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ELSKET,  AND  OTHER  STORIES 


BY  THOMAS   NELSON    PAGE. 


ELSKET   AND   OTHER   STORIES.     I2mo  .     .     .$1-00 

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1  BEFO'    DE   WAR."      Echoes  of   Negro    Dialect. 
By  A.    C.   Gordon   and  Thomas   Nelson    Page. 


I2mo 


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/1ND    OTHER    STORIES 


BY 

THOMAS  NELSON   PAGE 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
1893 


COPYRIGHT,   1891,  BY 
CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS. 


TO    HER    MEMORY 


5065  n 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

ELSKET 1 

"GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL      .     52 

P'LASKI'S  TUNAMENT ,     .     .  118 

"Kux  TO  SEED" 147 

"A  SOLDIER  OF  THE  EMPIRE"     ....  180 

vii 


ELSKET. 


"  The  knife  hangs  loose  in  the  sheath." 

—  OLD  NORSK  PROVERB. 

I  SPENT  a  month  of  the  summer  of  188- 
in  Norway —  "  Old  Norway  "  —  and  a  friend 
of  mine,  Dr.  John  Robson,  who  is  as  great  a 
fisherman  as  he  is  a  physician,  and  knows 
that  I  love  a  stream  where  the  trout  and  I 
can  meet  each  other  alone,  and  have  it  out 
face  to  face,  uninterrupted  by  any  interlopers, 
did  me  a  favor  to  which  I  was  indebted  for 
the  experience  related  below.  He  had  been 
to  Norway  two  years  before,  and  he  let  me 
into  the  secret  of  an  unexplored  region  be 
tween  the  Nord  Fiord  and  the  Romsdal.  I 
cannot  give  the  name  of  the  place,  because 
even  now  it  has  not  been  fully  explored,  and 
he  bound  me  by  a  solemn  promise  that  I 
would  not  divulge  it  to  a  single  soul,  actually 
going  to  the  length  of  insisting  on  my  adding 
a  formal  oath  to  my  affirmation.  This  I  con- 

1 


'2  ELS  RET. 

sented  to  because  I  knew  that  my  friend  was 
a  humorous  man,  and  also  because  otherwise 
he  positively  refused  to  inform  me  where 
the  streams  were  about  which  he  had  been 
telling  such  fabulous  fish  stories.  "  No,"  he 

said,  "some  of  those cattle  who  think 

they  own  the  earth  and  have  a  right  to  fool 
women  at  will  and  know  how  to  fish,  will  be 
poking  in  there,  worrying  Olaf  and  Elsket, 

and  ruining  the  fishing,  and  I'll  be if  I 

tell  you  unless  you  make  oath."  My  friend 
is  a  swearing  man,  though  he  says  he  swears 
for  emphasis,  not  blasphemy,  and  on  this 
occasion  he  swore  with  extreme  solemnity. 
I  saw  that  he  was  in  earnest,  so  made  affi 
davit  and  was  rewarded. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  after  inquiring  about  my 
climbing  capacity  in  a  way  which  piqued  me, 
and  giving  me  the  routes  with  a  particularity 
which  somewhat  mystified  me,  "  Now  I  will 
write  a  letter  to  Olaf  of  the  Mountain  and 
to  Elsket.  I  once  was  enabled  to  do  them  a 
slight  service,  and  they  will  receive  you.  It 
will  take  him  two  or  three  weeks  to  get  it, 
so  you  may  have  to  wait  a  little.  You  must 

wait  at  L until  Olaf  comes  down  to  take 

you  over  the  mountain.     You  may  be  there 


ELSKET.  3 

when  he  gets  the  letter,  or  you  may  have  to 
wait  for  a  couple  of  weeks,  as  he  does  not 
come  over  the  mountain  often.  However, 

you  can  amuse  yourself  around  L ;  only 

you  must  always  be  on  hand  every  night  in 
case  Olaf  comes." 

Although  this  appeared  natural  enough  to 
the  doctor,  it  sounded  rather  curious  to  me, 
and  it  seemed  yet  more  so  when  he  added, 
44  By  the  way,  one  piece  of  advice :  don't 
talk  about  England  to  Elsket,  and  don't  ask 
any  questions." 

"Who  is  Elsket?  "I  asked. 

44  A  daughter  of  the  Vikings,  poor  thing," 
he  said. 

My  curiosity  was  aroused,  but  I  could  get 
nothing  further  out  of  him,  and  set  it  down  to 
his  unreasonable  dislike  of  travelling  English 
men,  against  whom,  for  some  reason,  he  had  a 
violent  antipathy,  declaring  that  they  did  not 
know  how  to  treat  women  nor  ho\v  to  fish. 
My  friend  has  a  custom  of  speaking  very 
strongly,  and  I  used  to  wonder  at  the  vio 
lence  of  his  language,  which  contrasted 
strangely  with  his  character ;  for  he  was  the 
kindest-hearted  man  I  ever  knew,  being  a 
true  follower  of  his  patron  saint,  old  Isaac 


4  ELSKET. 

giving  his  sympathy  to  all  the  unfortunate, 
and  even  handling  his  frogs  as  if  he  loved 
them. 

Thus  it  was  that  on  the  afternoon  of  the 
seventh  day  of  July,  188-,  having,  for  pur 
poses  of  identification,  a  letter  in  my  pocket 
to  "  Olaf  of  the  Mountain  from  his  friend  Dr. 
Robson,"  I  stood,  in  the  rain  in  the  so-called 
"  street "  of  L ,  on  the Fiord,  look 
ing  over  the  bronzed  faces  of  the  stolid  but 
kindly  peasants  who  lounged  silently  around, 
trying  to  see  if  I  could  detect  in  one  a  resem 
blance  to  the  picture  I  had  formed  in  my 
mind  of  "  Olaf  of  the  Mountain,"  or  could 
discern  in  any  eye  a  gleam  of  special  interest 
to  show  that  its  possessor  was  on  the  watch 
for  an  expected  guest. 

There  was  none  in  whom  I  could  discover 
any  indication  that  he  was  not  a  resident 
of  the  straggling  little  settlement.  They 
all  stood  quietly  about  gazing  at  me  and 
talking  in  low  tones  among  themselves, 
chewing  tobacco  or  smoking  their  pipes,  as 
naturally  as  if  they  were  in  Virginia  or  Ken 
tucky,  only,  if  possible,  in  a  somewhat  more 
ruminant  manner.  It  gave  me  the  single 
bit  of  home  feeling  I  could  muster,  for  it 


ELSKET.  5 

was,  I  must  confess,  rather  desolate  stand 
ing  alone  in  a  strange  land,  under  those  beet 
ling  crags,  with  the  clouds  almost  resting  on 
our  heads,  and  the  rain  coming   down  in  a 
steady,  wet,  monotonous  fashion.     The  half- 
dozen  little  dark  log  or  frame-houses,  with 
their  double  windows  and  turf  roofs,  standing 
about  at  all  sorts  of  angles  to  the  road,  as  if 
they  had  rolled  down  the  mountain  like  the 
great   bowlders   beyond   them,   looked   dark 
and  cheerless.     I  was  weak  enough  to  wish 
for  a  second  that  I  had  waited  a  few  days  for 
the  rainy  spell  to  be  over,  but  two  little  bare 
headed    children,    coming    down    the    road 
laughing  and  chattering,  recalled  me  to  my 
self.     They  had  no  wrapping  whatever,  and 
nothing  on  their  heads  but  their  soft  flaxen 
hair,  yet  they  minded  the  rain  no  more  than 
if   they   had    been    ducklings.      I    saw   that 
these  people  were  used  to  rain.     It  was  the 
inheritance  of  a  thousand  years.     Something, 
however,  had  to  be  done,  and  I  recognized 
the  fact  that  I  was  out  of  the  beaten  track  of 
tourists,  and  that  if  I  had  to  stay  here  a  week, 
on  the  prudence  of  my  first  step  depended 
the  consideration  I  should  receive.     It  would 
not  do  to  be  hasty.     I  had  a  friend  with  me 


b  ELSKET. 

which  had  stood  me  in  good  stead  before, 
and  I  applied  to  it  now.  Walking  slowly 
up  to  the  largest,  and  one  of  the  oldest  men 
in  the  group,  I  drew  out  my  pipe  and  a  bag 
of  old  Virginia  tobacco,  free  from  any  flavor 
than  its  own,  and  filling  the  pipe,  I  asked 
him  for  a  light  in  the  best  phrase-book  Norsk 
I  could  command.  He  gave  it,  and  I  placed 
the  bag  in  his  hand  and  motioned  him  to 
fill  his  pipe.  When  that  was  done  I  handed 
the  pouch  to  another,  and  motioned  him  to 
fill  and  pass  the  tobacco  around.  One  by  one 
they  took  it,  and  I  saw  that  I  had  friends. 
No  man  can  fill  his  pipe  from  another's  bag 
and  not  wish  him  well. 

"  Does  any  of  you  know  Olaf  of  the  Moun 
tain?"  I  asked.  I  saw  at  once  that  I  had 
made  an  impression.  The  mention  of  that 
name  was  evidently  a  claim  to  consideration. 
There  was  a  general  murmur  of  surprise, 
and  the  group  gathered  around  me.  A  half- 
dozen  spoke  at  once. 

"  He  was  at  L last  week,"  they  said,  as 

if  that  fact  was  an  item  of  extensive  interest. 

"I  want  to  go  there,"  I  said,  and  then 
was,  somehow,  immediately  conscious  that 
I  had  made  a  mistake.  Looks  were  ex- 


ELSKET.  7 

Changed  and  some  words  were  spoken  among 
my  friends,  as  if  they  were  oblivious  of  my 
presence. 

"You  cannot  go  there.  None  goes  there 
but  at  night,"  said  one,  suggestively. 

"Who  goes  over  the  mountain  comes  no 
more,"  said  another,  as  if  he  quoted  a 
proverb,  at  which  there  was  a  faint  intima 
tion  of  laughter  on  the  part  of  several. 

My  first  adviser  undertook  a  long  explana 
tion,  but  though  he  labored  faithfully  I  could 
make  out  no  more  than  that  it  was  some 
thing  about  "Elsket"  and  "the  Devil's 
Ledge,"  and  men  who  had  disappeared.  This 
was  a  new  revelation.  What  object  had  my 
friend?  He  had  never  said  a  word  of  this. 
Indeed,  he  had,  I  now  remembered,  said  very 
little  at  all  about  the  people.  He  had  ex 
hausted  his  eloquence  on  the  fish.  I  recalled 
his  words  when  I  asked  him  about  Elsket: 
"She  is  a  daughter  of  the  Vikings,  poor 
thing."  That  was  all.  Had  he  been  up  to 
a  practical  joke  ?  If  so,  it  seemed  rather  a 
sorry  one  to  me  just  then.  But  anyhow  I 
could  not  draw  back  now.  I  could  never 
face  him  again  if  I  did  not  go  on,  and  what 
was  more  serious,  I  c©uld  never  face  myself. 


8  ELSKET. 

I  was  weak  enough  to  have  a  thought  that, 
after  all,  the  mysterious  Olaf  might  not 
come;  but  the  recollection  of  the  fish  of 
which  my  friend  had  spoken  as  if  they  had 
been  the  golden  fish  of  the  "  Arabian  Nights," 
banished  that.  I  asked  about  the  streams 
around  L .  "  Yes,  there  was  good  fish 
ing."  But  they  were  all  too  anxious  to  tell 
me  about  the  danger  of  going  over  the  moun 
tain  to  give  much  thought  to  the  fishing. 
"No  one  without  Olafs  blood  could  cross 
the  Devil's  Ledge."  "  Two  men  had  disap 
peared  three  years  ago."  "  A  man  had 
disappeared  there  last  year.  He  had  gone, 
and  had  never  been  heard  of  afterward.  The 
Devil's  Ledge  was  a  bad  pass." 

44  Why  don't  they  look  into  the  matter?" 
I  asked. 

The  reply  was  as  near  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders  as  a  Norseman  can  accomplish. 

"  It  was  not  easy  to  get  the  proof ;  the 
mountain  was  very  dangerous,  the  glacier 
very  slippery ;  there  were  no  witnesses,"  etc. 
"  Olaf  of  the  Mountain  was  not  a  man  to 
trouble." 

"  He  hates  Englishmen,"  said  one,  signifi 
cantly. 


ELSKET.  9 

"I  am  not  an  Englishman,  I  am  an  Ameri 
can,"  I  explained. 

This  had  a  sensible  effect.  Several  began 
to  talk  at  once.  One  had  a  brother  in  Idaho, 
another  had  cousins  in  Nebraska,  and  so  on. 

The  group  had  by  this  time  been  aug 
mented  by  the  addition  of  almost  the  entire 
population  of  the  settlement ;  one  or  two 
rosy-cheeked  women,  having  babies  in  their 
arms,  standing  in  the  rain  utterly  regardless 
of  the  steady  downpour. 

It  was  a  propitious  time.  "  Can  I  get  a 
place  to  stay  here  ?  "  I  inquired  of  the  group 
generally. 

"Yes,  —  oh,  yes."  There  was  a  consulta 
tion  in  which  the  name  of  "  Hendrik "  was 
heard  frequently,  and  then  a  man  stepped 
forward  and  taking  up  my  bag  and  rod-case, 
walked  off,  I  following,  escorted  by  a  number 
of  my  new  friends. 

I  had  been  installed  in  Hendrik's  little 
house  about  an  hour,  and  we  had  just  fin 
ished  supper,  when  there  was  a  murmur 
outside,  and  then  the  door  opened,  and  a 
young  man  stepping  in,  said  something  so 
rapidly  that  I  understood  only  that  it  con 
cerned  Olaf  of  the  Mountain,  and  in  some 
way  myself. 


10  ELSKET. 

"  Olaf  of  the  Mountain  is  here  and  wants 
to  speak  to  you,"  said  my  host.  "  Will  you 
go?" 

"Yes,"  I  said.  "Why  does  he  not  come 
in?" 

"  He  will  not  come  in,"  said  my  host ;  "  he 
never  does  come  in." 

"  He  is  at  the  church-yard,"  said  the  mes 
senger  ;  "  he  always  stops  there."  They  both 
spoke  broken  English. 

I  arose  and  went  out,  taking  the  direction 
indicated.  A  number  of  my  friends  stood  in 
the  road  or  street  as  I  passed  along,  and 
touched  their  caps  to  me,  looking  very  queer 
in  the  dim  twilight.  They  gazed  at  me  curi 
ously  as  I  walked  by. 

I  turned  the  corner  of  a  house  which  stood 
half  in  the  road,  and  just  in  front  of  me,  in  its 
little  yard,  was  the  little  white  church  with  its 
square,  heavy,  short  spire.  At  the  gate  stood 
a  tall  figure,  perfectly  motionless,  leaning  on 
a  long  staff.  As  I  approached  I  saw  that  lie 
was  an  elderly  man.  He  wore  a  long  beard, 
once  yellow  but  now  gray,  and  he  looked  very 
straight  and  large.  There  was  something 
grand  about  him  as  he  stood  there  in  the  dusk. 

I  came  quite  up  to  him.    He  did  not  move. 


ELSKET.  11 

"  Good-evening,"  I  said. 

"  Good-evening." 

"  Are  you  Mr.  Hovedsen  ?  "  I  asked,  draw 
ing  out  my  letter. 

"I  am  Olaf  of  the  Mountain,"  he  said 
slowly,  as  if  his  name  embraced  the  whole 
title. 

I  handed  him  the  letter. 

44  You  are ?" 

"I  am "  taking  my  cue  from  his  own 

manner. 

"The  friend  of  her  friend?" 

"  His  great  friend." 

"  Can  you  climb  ?  " 

"I  can." 

"  Are  you  steady  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  It  is  well ;  are  you  ready  ?  " 

I  had  not  counted  on  this,  and  involunta 
rily  I  asked,  in  some  surprise,  "  To-night  ?  " 

"  To-night.     You  cannot  go  in  the  day." 

I  thought  of  the  speech  I  had  heard :  "  No 
one  goes  over  the  mountain  except  at  night," 
and  the  ominous  conclusion,  "  Who  goes  over 
the  mountain  comes  no  more."  My  strange 
host,  however,  diverted  my  thoughts. 

"  A  stranger  cannot  go  except  at  night," 


12  ELSKET. 

he  said,  gravely ;  and  then  added,  "  I  must 
get  back  to  watch  over  Elsket." 

"I  shall  be  ready  in  a  minute,"  I  said, 
turning. 

In  ten  minutes  I  had  bade  good-by  to  my 
simple  hosts,  and  leaving  them  with  a  suffi 
cient  evidence  of  my  consideration  to  secure 
their  lasting  good-will,  I  was  on  my  way  down 
the  street  again  with  my  light  luggage  on  my 
back.  This  time  the  entire  population  of  the 
little  village  was  in  the  road,  and  as  I  passed 
along  I  knew  by  their  murmuring  conversa 
tion  that  they  regarded  my  action  with  pro 
found  misgiving.  I  felt,  as  I  returned  their 
touch  of  the  cap  and  bade  them  good-by,  a 
little  like  the  gladiators  of  old  who,  about  to 
die,  saluted  Caesar. 

At  the  gate  my  strange  guide,  who  had  not 
moved  from  the  spot  where  I  first  found  him, 
insisted  on  taking  my  luggage,  and  buckling 
his  straps  around  it  and  flinging  it  over  his 
back,  he  handed  me  his  stick,  and  without  a 
word  strode  off  straight  toward  the  black 
mountain  whose  vast  wall  towered  above  us 
to  the  clouds. 

I  shall  never  forget  that  climb. 

We  were  hardly  out  of  the  road  before  we 


ELSKET.  13 

began  to  ascend,  and  I  had  shortly  to  stop 
for  breath.  My  guide,  however,  if  silent  was 
thoughtful,  and  he  soon  caught  my  gait  and 
knew  when  to  pause.  Up  through  the  dusk  we 
went,  he  guiding  me  now  by  a  word  telling 
me  how  to  step,  or  now  turning  to  give  me  his 
hand  to  help  me  up  a  steep  place,  over  a  large 
rock,  or  around  a  bad  angle.  For  a  time  we 
had  heard  the  roar  of  the  torrent  as  it  boiled 
below  us,  but  as  we  ascended  it  had  gradually 
hushed,  and  we  at  length  were  in  a  region  of 
profound  silence.  The  night  was  cloudy,  and 
as  dark  as  it  ever  is  in  midsummer  in  that 
far  northern  latitude;  but  I  knew  that  we 
were  climbing  along  the  edge  of  a  precipice, 
on  a  narrow  ledge  of  rock  along  the  face 
of  the  cliff.  The  vast  black  wall  above  us 
rose  sheer  up,  and  I  could  feel  rather  than 
see  that  it  went  as  sheer  down,  though  my 
sight  could  not  penetrate  the  darkness  which 
filled  the  deep  abyss  below.  We  had  been 
climbing  about  three  hours  when  suddenly 
the  ledge  seemed  to  die  out.  My  guide 
stopped,  and  unwinding  his  rope  from  his 
waist,  held  it  out  to  me.  I  obeyed  his  silent 
gesture,  and  binding  it  around  my  body  gave 
him  the  end.  He  wrapped  it  about  him, 


14  ELSEET. 

and  then  taking  me  by  the  arm,  as  if  I  had 
been  a  child,  he  led  me  slowly  along  the 
narrow  ledge  around  the  face  of  the  wall,  step 
by  step,  telling  me  where  to  place  my  feet, 
and  waiting  till  they  were  firmly  planted.  I 
began  now  to  understand  why  no  one  ever 
went  "over  the  mountain"  in  the  day.  We 
were  on  a  ledge  nearly  three  thousand  feet 
high.  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  strong,  firm 
hold  on  my  arm,  I  could  not  have  stood  it. 
As  it  was  I  dared  not  think.  Suddenly  we 
turned  a  sharp  angle  and  found  ourselves 
in  a  curious  semicircular  place,  almost  level 
and  fifty  or  sixty  feet  deep  in  the  concave,  as 
if  a  great  piece  had  been  gouged  out  of  the 
mountain  by  the  glacier  which  must  once 
have  been  there. 

"  This  is  a  curious  place,"  I  ventured  to 
say. 

"  It  is,"  said  my  guide.  "  It  is  the  Devil's 
Seat.  Men  have  died  here." 

His  tone  was  almost  fierce.  I  accepted  his 
explanation  silently.  We  passed  the  singu 
lar  spot  and  once  more  were  on  the  ledge,  but 
except  in  one  place  it  was  not  so  narrow  as  it 
had  been  the  other  side  of  the  Devil's  Seat, 
and  in  fifteen  minutes  we  had  crossed  the 


ELSKET.  15 

summit  and  the  path  widened  a  little  and 
began  to  descend. 

"You  do  well,"  said  my  guide,  briefly, 
"  but  not  so  well  as  Doctor  John."  I  was 
well  content  with  being  ranked  a  good  second 
to  the  doctor  just  then. 

The  rain  had  ceased,  the  sky  had  partly 
cleared,  and,  as  we  began  to  descend,  the 
early  twilight  of  the  northern  dawn  began  to 
appear.  First  the  sky  became  a  clear  steel- 
gray  and  the  tops  of  the  mountains  became 
visible,  the  dark  outlines  beginning  to  be  filled 
in,  and  taking  on  a  soft  color.  This  light 
ened  rapidly,  until  on  the  side  facing  east 
they  were  bathed  in  an  atmosphere  so  clear 
and  transparent  that  they  seemed  almost 
within  a  stone's  throw  of  us,  while  the  other 
side  was  still  left  in  a  shadow  which  was 
so  deep  as  to  be  almost  darkness.  The  gray 
lightened  and  lightened  into  pearl  until  a 
tinge  of  rose  appeared,  and  then  the  sky 
suddenly  changed  to  the  softest  blue,  and  a 
little  later  the  snow-white  mountain-tops 
were  bathed  in  pink,  and  it  was  day. 

I  could  see  in  the  light  that  we  were  de 
scending  into  a  sort  of  upland  hollow  between 
the  snow-patched  mountain-tops ;  below  us 


ELSKET. 


was  a  lovely  little  valley  in  which  small  pines 
and  birches  grew,  and  patches  of  the  green, 
short  grass  which  stands  for  hay  shone  among 
the  great  bowlders.  Several  little  streams 
came  jumping  down  as  white  as  milk  from 
the  glaciers  stuck  between  the  mountain-tops, 
and  after  resting  in  two  or  three  tiny  hikes 
which  looked  like  hand-mirrors  lying  in  the 
grass  below,  went  bubbling  and  foaming  on 
to  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  over  which  they 
sprang,  to  be  dashed  into  vapor  and  snow 
hundreds  of  feet  down.  A  half-dozen  sheep 
and  as  many  goats  were  feeding  about  in  the 
little  valley;  but  I  could  not  see  the  least 
sign  of  a  house,  except  a  queer,  brown  struct 
ure,  on  a  little  knoll,  with  many  gables  and 
peaks,  ending  in  the  curious  dragon-pennants, 
which  I  recognized  as  one  of  the  old  Norsk 
wooden  churches  of  a  past  age. 

When,  however,  an  hour  later,  we  had  got 
down  to  the  table-land,  I  found  myself  sud, 
denly  in  front  of  a  long,  quaint,  double  log 
cottage,  set  between  two  immense  bowlders, 
and  roofed  with  layers  of  birch  bark,  covered 
with  turf,  which  was  blue  with  wild  pansies. 
It  was  as  if  it  were  built  under  a  bed  of 
heartVease.  It  was  very  old,  and  had  evi- 


ELSKET. 


17 


dently  been  a  house  of  some  pretension,  for 
there   was   much  curious    carving  about  the 
doors,    and    indeed   about    the    whole   front, 
the  dragon's  head  being  distinctly  visible  in 
the  design.     There  were  several  lesser  houses 
which  looked  as  if  they  had  once  been  dwell 
ings,  but  they  seemed  now  to  be  only  stables. 
As  we  approached  the  principal  door  it  was 
opened,  and  there  stepped  forth  one  of  the 
most  striking  figures  I  ever  saw — a  young 
woman,   rather  tall,    and   as   straight   as    an 
arrow.     My  friend's  words  involuntarily  re 
curred  to  me,  "  A  daughter  of  the  Vikings," 
and  then,  somehow,  I  too  had  the  feeling  he 
had  expressed,  "  Poor  thing !  "     Her   figure 
was  one  of  the  richest  and  most  perfect  I  ever 
beheld.     Her  face  was  singularly  beautiful; 
but  it  was  less  her  beauty  than  her  nobility 
of  look   and  mien   combined  with  a  certain 
sadness  which  impressed  me.     The  features 
were  clear  and  strong  and  perfectly  carved. 
There  was  a  firm  mouth,  a  good  jaw,  strong 
chin,  a  broad  brow,  and  deep  blue  eyes  which 
looked  straight  at  you.     Her  expression  was 
so  soft  and  tender  as  to  have  something  pa 
thetic  in  it.     Her  hair  was  flaxen,  and  as  fine 
as  satin,  and  was  brushed  perfectly  smooth 


18  ELSKET. 

and  coiled  on  the  back  of  her  shapely  head, 
which  was  placed  admirably  on  her  shoulders. 
She  was  dressed  in  the  coarse,  black-blue 
stuff  of  the  country,  and  a  kerchief,  also  dark 
blue,  was  knotted  under  her  chin,  and  fell 
back  behind  her  head,  forming  a  dark  back 
ground  for  her  silken  hair. 

Seeing  us  she  stood  perfectly  still  until  we 
drew  near,  when  she  made  a  quaint,  low 
courtesy  and  advanced  to  meet  her  father 
with  a  look  of  eager  expectancy  in  her  large 
eyes. 

"  Elsket,"  he  said,  with  a  tenderness  which 
conveyed  the  full  meaning  of  the  sweet  pet 
term,  "  darling." 

There  was  something  about  these  people, 
peasants  though  they  were,  which  gave  me 
a  strange  feeling  of  respect  for  them. 

"  This  is  Doctor  John's  friend,"  said  the 
old  man,  quietly. 

She  looked  at  her  father  in  a  puzzled  way 
for  a  moment,  as  if  she  had  not  heard  him, 
but  as  he  repeated  his  introduction  a  light 
came  into  her  eyes,  and  coming  up  to  me  she 
held  out  her  hand,  saying,  "  Welcome." 

Then  turning  to  her  father  —  "Have  you 
a  letter  for  me,  father  ?"  she  asked. 


ELSKET.  19 

"  No,  Elsket,"  lie  said,  gently  ;  "  but  I  will 
go  again  next  month." 

A  cloud  settled  on  her  face  and  increased 
its  sadness,  and  she  turned  her  head  away. 
After  a  moment  she  went  into  the  house 
and  I  saw  that  she  was  weeping.  A  look  of 
deep  dejection  came  over  the  old  man's  face 
also. 


II. 

I  found  that  my  friend,  "  Doctor  John," 
strange  to  relate  of  a  fisherman,  had  not 
exaggerated  the  merits  of  the  fishing.  How 
they  got  there,  two  thousand  feet  above  the 
lower  valley,  I  don't  know ;  but  trout  fairly 
swarmed  in  the  little  streams,  which  boiled 
among  the  rocks,  and  they  were  as  greedy  as 
if  they  had  never  seen  a  fly  in  their  lives.  I 
shortly  became  contemptuous  toward  any 
thing  under  three  pounds,  and  addressed 
myself  to  the  task  of  defending  my  flies 
against  the  smaller  ones,  and  keeping  them 
only  for  the  big  fellows,  which  ran  over 
three  pounds  —  the  patriarchs  of  the  streams. 
With  these  I  had  capital  sport,  for  they  knew 
every  angle  and  hole,  they  sought  every  coign 


20  ELSKET. 

of  vantage,  and  the  rocks  were  so  thick  and 
so  sharp  that  from  the  time  one  of  these  vet 
erans  took  the  fly,  it  was  an  equal  contest 
which  of  us  should  come  off  victorious.  I 
was  often  forced  to  rush  splashing  and  floun 
dering  through  the  water  to  my  waist  to  keep 
my  line  from  being  sawed,  and  as  the  water 
was  not  an  hour  from  the  green  glaciers 
above,  it  was  not  always  entirely  pleasant. 

I  soon  made  firm  friends  with  my  hosts, 
and  varied  the  monotony  of  catching  three- 
pounders  by  helping  them  get  in  their  hay 
for  the  winter.  Elsket,  poor  thing,  was, 
notwithstanding  her  apparently  splendid 
physique,  so  delicate  that  she  could  no  longer 
stand  the  fatigue  of  manual  labor,  any  extra 
exertion  being  liable  to  bring  on  a  recurrence 
of  the  heart-failure,  from  which  she  had  suf 
fered.  I  learned  that  she  had  had  a  violent 
hemorrhage  two  summers  before,  from  which 
she  had  come  near  dying,  and  that  the  skill 
of  my  friend,  the  doctor,  had  doubtless  saved 
her  life.  This  was  the  hold  he  had  on  Olaf 
of  the  Mountain :  this  was  the  "small  service  " 
he  had  rendered  them. 

By  aiding  them  thus,  I  was  enabled  to  be 
of  material  assistance  to  Olaf,  and  I  found  in 


ELSEET.  21 

helping  these  good  people,  that  work  took  on 
once  more  the  delight  which  I  remembered  it 
used  to  have  under  like  circumstances  when 
I  was  a  boy.  I  could  cut  or  carry  on  my 
back  loads  of  hay  all  day,  and  feel  at  night 
as  if  I  had  been  playing.  Such  is  the  singu 
lar  effect  of  the  spirit  on  labor. 

To  make  up  for  this,  Elsket  would  some 
times,  when  I  went  fishing,  take  her  knitting 
and  keep  me  company,  sitting  at  a  little 
distance.  With  her  pale,  calm  face  and 
shining  hair  outlined  against  the  background 
of  her  sad-colored  kerchief,  she  looked  like  a 
mourning  angel.  I  never  saw  her  smile 
except  when  her  father  came  into  her  pres 
ence,  and  when  she  smiled  it  was  as  if  the 
sun  had  suddenly  come  out.  I  began  to 
understand  the  devotion  of  these  two  strange 
people,  so  like  and  yet  so  different. 

One  rainy  day  she  had  a  strange  turn ;  she 
began  to  be  restless.  Her  large,  sad  eyes, 
usually  so  calm,  became  bright ;  the  two 
spots  in  her  cheeks  burned  yet  deeper ;  her 
face  grew  anxious.  Then  she  laid  her  knit 
ting  aside  and  took  out  of  a  great  chest  some 
thing  on  which  she  began  to  sew  busily.  I 
was  looking  at  her,  when  she  caught  my  eye 


22  ELSKET. 

and  smiled.  It  was  the  first  time  she  ever 
smiled  for  me.  "  Did  you  know  I  was  going 
to  be  married?  "  she  asked,  just  as  an  Amer 
ican  girl  might  have  done.  And  before  I 
could  answer,  she  brought  me  the  work.  It 
was  her  wedding  dress.  "  I  have  nearly 
finished  it,"  she  said.  Then  she  brought  me 
a  box  of  old  silver  ornaments,  such  as  the 
Norsk  brides  wear,  and  put  them  on.  When 
I  had  admired  them  she  put  them  away. 
After  a  little,  she  arose  and  began  to  wander 
about  the  house  and  out  into  the  rain.  I 
watched  her  with  interest.  Her  father  came 
in,  and  I  saw  a  distressed  look  come  into  his 
eyes.  He  went  up  to  her,  and  laying  his 
hand  on  her  drew  her  toward  a  seat.  Then 
taking  down  an  old  Bible,  he  turned  to  a 
certain  place  and  began  to  read.  He  read 
first  the  Psalm:  "Lord,  thou  hast  been  our 
refuge,  from  one  generation  to  another.  Be 
fore  the  mountains  were  brought  forth,  or 
ever  the  earth  and  the  world  were  made,  thou 
art  God  from  everlasting,  and  world  without 
end."  Then  he  turned  to  the  chapter  of 
Corinthians,  "  Now  is  Christ  risen  from  the 
dead,  and  become  the  first-fruits  of  them  that 
slept,"  etc.  His  voice  was  clear,  rich,  and 


ELSKET.  2o 

devout,  and  he  read  it  with  singular  earnest 
ness  and  beauty.  It  gave  me  a  strange  feel 
ing  ;  it  is  a  part  of  our  burial  service.  Then 
he  opened  his  hymn-book  and  began  to  sing  a 
low,  dirge-like  hymn.  I  sat  silent,  watching 
the  strange  service  and  noting  its  effect  on 
Elsket.  She  sat  at  first  like  a  person  bound, 
struggling  to  be  free,  then  became  quieter, 
and  at  last,  perfectly  calm.  Then  Olaf  knelt 
down,  and  with  his  hand  still  on  her  prayed 
one  of  the  most  touching  prayers  I  ever 
heard.  It  was  for  patience. 

When  he  rose  Elsket  was  weeping,  a/id  she 
went  and  leant  in  his  arms  like  a  child,  and 
he  kissed  her  as  tenderly  as  if  he  had  been 
her  mother. 

Next  day,  however,  the  same  excited  state 
recurred,  and  this  time  the  reading  appeared 
to  have  less  effect.  She  sewed  busily,  and 
insisted  that  there  must  be  a  letter  for  her  at 

L .    A  violent  fit  of  weeping  was  followed 

by  a  paroxysm  of  coughing,  and  finally  the 
old  man,  who  had  sat  quietly  by  her  with  his 
hand  stroking  her  head,  arose  and  said,  UI 
will  go."  She  threw  herself  into  his  arms, 
rubbing  her  head  against  him  in  sign  of  dumb 
affection,  and  in  a  little  while  grew  calm.  It 


24  ELSKET. 

was  still  raining  and  quite  late,  only  a  little 
before  sunset;  but  the  old  man  went  out, 

and  taking  the  path  toward  L was  soon 

climbing  the  mountain  toward  the  Devil's 
Seat.  Elsket  sat  up  all  night,  but  she  was  as 
calm  and  as  gentle  as  ever. 

The  next  morning  when  Olaf  returned  she 
went  out  to  meet  him.  Her  look  was  full  of 
eager  expectancy.  I  did  not  go  out,  but 
watched  her  from  the  door.  I  saw  Olaf 
shake  his  head,  and  heard  her  say  bitterly, 
"  It  is  so  hard  to  wait,"  and  he  said,  gently, 
"  Yes,  it  is,  Elsket,  but  I  will  go  again,"  and 
then  she  came  in  weeping  quietly,  the  old 
man  following  with  a  tender  look  on  his 
strong,  weather-beaten  face. 

That  day  Elsket  was  taken  ill.  She  had 
been  trying  to  do  a  little  work  in  the  field  in 
the  afternoon,  when  a  sinking  spell  had  come 
on.  It  looked  for  a  time  as  if  the  poor  over 
driven  heart  had  knocked  off  work  for  good 
and  all.  Strong  remedies,  however,  left  by 
Doctor  John,  set  it  going  again,  and  we  got 
her  to  bed.  She  was  still  desperately  feeble, 
and  Olaf  sat  up.  I  could  not  leave  him,  so  we 
were  sitting  watching,  he  one  side  the  open 
platform  fireplace  in  one  corner,  and  I  tJie 


ELSKET.  25 

other;  he  smoking,  anxious,  silent,  grim;  I 
watching  the  expression  on  his  gray  face. 
His  eyes  seemed  set  back  deeper  than  ever 
under  the  shaggy  gray  brows,  and  as  the  fire 
light  fell  on  him  he  had  the  fierce,  hopeless 
look  of  a  caged  eagle.  It  was  late  in  the 
night  before  he  spoke,  and  then  it  was  half  to 
himself  and  but  half  to  me. 

"  I  have  fought  it  ten  long  years,"  he  said, 
slowly. 

Not  willing  to  break  the  thread  of  his 
thought  by  speaking,  I  lit  my  pipe  afresh  and 
just  looked  at  him.  He  received  it  as  an 
answer. 

"  She  is  the  last  of  them,"  he  said,  accept 
ing  me  as  an  auditor  rather  than  addressing 
me.  "  We  go  back  to  Olaf  Traetelje,  the 
blood  of  Harold  Haarfager  (the  Fairhaired) 
is  in  our  veins,  and  here  it  ends.  Dane  and 
Swede  have  known  our  power,  Saxon  and 
Celt  have  bowed  bare-headed  to  us,  and  with 
her  it  ends.  In  this  stronghold  many  times 
her  fathers  have  found  refuge  from  their  foes 
arid  gained  breathing-time  after  battles  by 
sea  and  land.  From  this  nest,  like  eagles, 
they  have  swooped  down,  carrying  all  before 
them,  and  here,  at  last,  when  betrayed  and 


26  ELSKET. 

hunted,  they  found  refuge.  Here  no  foreign 
king  could  rule  over  them ;  here  they  learnt 
the  lesson  that  Christ  is  the  only  king,  and 
that  all  men  are  his  brothers.  Here  they 
lived  and  worshipped  him.  If  their  domin 
ions  were  stolen  from  them  they  found  here  a 
truer  wealth,  content ;  if  they  had  not  power, 
they  had  what  was  better,  independence.  For 
centuries  they  held  this  last  remnant  of  the 
dominion  which  Harold  Haarfager  had  con 
quered  by  land,  and  Eric  of  the  Bloody  Axe 
had  won  by  sea,  sending  out  their  sons  and 
daughters  to  people  the  lands ;  but  the  race 
dwindled  as  their  lands  had  done  before,  and 
now  with  her  dies  the  last.  How  has  it 
come  ?  As  ever,  by  betrayal !  " 

The  old  man  turned  fiercely,  his  breast 
heaving,  his  eyes  burning. 

"Was  she  who  came  of  a  race  at  whose 
feet  jarls  have  crawled  and  kings  have  knelt 
not  good  enough?"  I  was  hearing  the  story 
and  did  not  interrupt  him  —  "Not  good 
enough  for  him ! "  he  continued  in  his  low, 
fierce  monotone.  "  I  did  not  want  him.  What 
if  he  was  a  Saxon?  His  fathers  were  our  boat 
men.  Rather  Cnut  a  thousand  times.  Then 
the  race  would  not  have  died.  Then  she 
would  not  be  —  not  be  so." 


ELSKET.  27 

The  reference  to  her  recalled  him  to  him 
self,  and  he  suddenly  relapsed  into  silence. 

"  At  least,  Cnut  paid  the  score,"  he  began 
once  more,  in  a  low  intense  undertone.  "  In 
his  arms  he  bore  him  down  from  the  Devil's 
Seat,  a  thousand  feet  sheer  on  the  hard  ice, 
where  his  cursed  body  lies  crushed  forever, 
a  witness  of  his  falsehood." 

I  did  not  interrupt,  and  he  rewarded  my 
patience,  giving  a  more  connected  account, 
for  the  first  time  addressing  me  directly. 

"  Her  mother  died  when  she  was  a  child," 
he  said,  softly.  His  gentle  voice  contrasted 
strangely  with  the  fierce  undertone  in  which 
he  had  been  speaking.  "  I  was  mother  as  well 
as  father  to  her.  She  was  as  good  as  she  was 
beautiful,  and  each  day  she  grew  more  and 
more  so.  She  was  a  second  Igenborg.  Know 
ing  that  she  needed  other  companionship  than 
an  old  man,  I  sought  and  brought  her  Cnut 
(he  spoke  of  him  as  if  I  must  know  all  about 
him).  Cnut  was  the  son  of  my  only  kinsman, 
the  last  of  his  line  as  well,  and  he  was  tall 
and  straight  and  strong.  I  loved  him  and  he 
was  my  son,  and  as  he  grew  I  saw  that  he 
loved  her,  and  I  was  not  sorry,  for  he  was 
goodly  to  look  on,  straight  and  tall  as  one  of 


28  ELSKET. 

old,  and  he  was  good  also.  And  she  was  satis 
fied  with  him,  and  from  a  child  ordered  him 
to  do  her  girlish  bidding,  and  he  obeyed  and 
laughed,  well  content  to  have  her  smile.  And 
he  would  carry  her  on  his  shoulder,  and  take 
her  on  the  mountain  to  slide,  and  would  gather 
her  flowers.  And  I  thought  it  was  well.  And 
I  thought  that  in  time  they  would  marry  and 
have  the  farm,  and  that  there  would  be 
children  about  the  house,  and  the  valley 
might  be  filled  with  their  voices  as  in  the 
old  time.  And  I  was  content.  And  one 
day  he  came  !  (the  reference  cost  him  an 
effort).  Ciiut  found  him  fainting  on  the 
mountain  and  brought  him  here  in  his  arms. 
He  had  come  to  the  village  alone,  and  the  idle 
fools  there  had  told  him  of  me,  and  he  had 
asked  to  meet  me,  and  they  told  him  of  the 
mountain,  and  that  none  could  pass  the  Devil's 
Ledge  but  those  who  had  the  old  blood,  and 
that  I  loved  not  strangers  ;  and  he  said  he 
would  pass  it,  and  he  had  come  and  passed 
safely  the  narrow  ledge,  and  reached  the 
Devil's  Seat,  when  a  stone  had  fallen  upon 
him,  and  Cnut  had  found  him  there  faint 
ing,  and  had  lifted  him  and  brought  him 
here,  risking  his  own  life  to  save  him  on  the 


ELSKET.  29 

ledge.  And  he  was  near  to  death  for  days, 
and  she  nursed  him  and  brought  him  from 
the  grave. 

"At  first  I  was  cold  to  him,  but  there  was 
something  about  him  that  drew  me  and  held 
me.  It  was  not  that  he  was  young  and  taller 
than  Cnut,  and  fair.  It  was  not  that  his  eyes 
were  clear  and  full  of  light,  and  his  figure 
straight  as  a  young  pine.  It  \vas  not  that  he 
had  climbed  the  mountain  and  passed  the  nar 
row  ledge  and  the  Devil's  Seat  alone,  though 
I  liked  well  his  act ;  for  none  but  those  who 
have  Harold  Haarfager's  blood  have  done  it 
alone  in  all  the  years,  though  many  have  tried 
and  failed.  I  asked  him  what  men  called  him, 
and  he  said,  4  Harold ; '  then  laughing,  said 
some  called  him,  'Harold  the  Fair-haired,' 
The  answer  pleased  me.  There  was  some 
thing  in  the  name  which  drew  me  to  him. 
When  I  first  saw  him  I  had  thought  of  Harald 
Haarfager,  and  of  Harald  Haardraarder,  arid 
of  that  other  Harold,  who,  though  a  Saxon, 
died  bravely  for  his  kingdom  when  his  brother 
betrayed  him,  and  I  held  out  my  hand  and 
gave  him  the  clasp  of  friendship." 

The  old  man  paused,  but  after  a  brief  re 
flection  proceeded : 


30 


ELSKET. 


"  We  made  him  welcome  and  we  loved  him. 
He  knew  the  world  and  could  tell  us  many 
things.     He  knew  the  story  of  Norway  and 
the  Vikings,  and  the  Sagas  were  on  his  tongue. 
Cnut  loved  him  and  followed  him,  and  she 
(the  pause  which  always  indicated  her  who 
filled   his  thoughts)— she,  then  but  a  girl, 
laughed  and  sang  for  him,  and  he  sang  for 
her,  and  his  voice  was  rich  and  sweet.     And 
she  went  with  him  to  fish  and  to  climb,  and 
often,  when  Cnut  and  I  were  in  the  field,  we 
would  hear  her  laugh,  clear  and  fresh  from 
the  rocks  beside  the  streams,  as  he  told  her 
some  fine  story  of  his  England.     He  stayed 
here  a  month  and  a  week,  and  then  departed, 
saying  he  would  come  again  next  year,  and 
the  house  was  empty  and  silent  after  he  left. 
But  after  a  time  we  grew  used  to  it  once  more 
and  the  winter  came. 

"  When  the  spring  returned  we  got  a  letter 
-a  letter  to  her— saying  he  would  come  again, 
and  every  two  weeks  another  letter  came,  and 
I  went  for  it  and  brought  it  to  —  to  her,  and 
she  read  it  to  Cnut  and  me.  And  at  last  he 
came  and  I  went  to  meet  him,  and  brought 
him  here,  welcome  as  if  he  had  been  my  eldest 
born,  and  we  were  glad.  Cnut  smiled  and 


ELSKET.  31 

ran  forward  and  gave  him  his  hand,  and  — 

she she  did  not  come  at  first,  but  when  she 

came  she  was  clad  in  all  that  was  her  best, 
and  wore  hsr  silver — the  things  her  mother 
and  her  grandmother  had  worn,  and  as  she 
stepped  ont  of  the  door  and  saluted  him,  I 
saw  for  the  first  time  that  she  was  a  woman 
grown,  and  it  was  hard  to  tell  which  face  was 
brighter,  hers  or  his,  and  Cnut  smiled  to  see 
her  so  glad." 

The  old  man  relapsed  into  reflection. 
Presently,  however,  he  resumed: 

"  This  time  he  was  gayer  than  before :  — the 
summer  seemed  to  come  with  him.  He  sang 
to  her  and  read  to  her  from  books  that  he 
had  brought,  teaching  her  to  speak  English 
like  himself,  and  he  would  go  and  fish  up  the 
streams  while  she  sat  near  by  and  talked  to 
him.  Cnut  also  learned  his  tongue  well,  and 
I  did  also,  but  Cnut  did  not  see  so  much  of 
him  as  before,  for  Cnut  had  to  work,  and  in 
the  evening  they  were  reading  and  she  —  she 

grew  more  and  more  beautiful,  and  laughed 

and  sang  more.  And  so  the  summer  passed. 
The  autumn  came,  but  he  did  not  go,  and  I 
was  well  content,  for  she  was  happy,  and,  in 
truth,  the  place  was  cheerier  that  he  was  here. 


32  ELSKET. 

Cnut  alone  seemed  downcast,  but  I  knew  not 
why;  and  then  the  snow  came.  One  morn 
ing  we  awoke  and  the  farm  was  as  white  as 
the  mountains.  I  said  to  him,  4  Now  you  are 
here  for  the  winter,'  and  he  laughed  and  said, 
4  No,  I  will  stay  till  the  new-year.  I  have 
business  then  in  England,  and  I  must  go.' 
And  I  turned,  and  her  face  was  like  sun 
shine,  for  she  knew  that  none  but  Cnut  and 
I  had  ever  passed  the  Devil's  Ledge  in  the 
snow,  and  the  other  way  by  which  I  took  the 
Doctor  home  was  worse  then,  though  easier  in 
the  summer,  only  longer.  But  Cnut  looked 
gloomy,  at  which  I  chid  him ;  but  he  was 
silent.  And  the  autumn  passed  rapidly,  so 
cheerful  was  he,  finding  in  the  snow  as  much 
pleasure  as  in  the  sunshine,  and  taking  her 
out  to  slide  and  race  on  shoes  till  she  would 
come  in  with  her  cheeks  like  roses  in  summer, 
and  her  eyes  like  stars,  and  she  made  it  warm 
where  she  was. 

"  And  one  evening  they  came  home.  He 
was  gayer  than  ever,  and  she  more  beautiful, 
but  silenter  than  her  wont.  She  looked  like 
her  mother  the  evening  I  asked  her  to  be  my 
wife.  I  could  not  take  my  eyes  from  her. 
That  night  Cnut  was  a  caged  wolf.  At  last 


ELSKET.  33 

he  asked  me  to  come  out,  and  then  he  told 
me  that  he  had  seen  Harold  kiss  her  and  had 
heard  him  tell  her  that  he  loved  her,  and  she 
had  not  driven  him  away.  My  heart  was 
wrung  for  Cnut,  for  I  loved  him,  and  he  wept 
like  a  child.  I  tried  to  comfort  him,  but  it 
was  useless,  and  the  next  day  he  went  away 
for  a  time.  I  was  glad  to  have  him  go,  for 
I  grieved  for  him,  and  I  thought  she  would 
miss  him  and  be  glad  when  he  came  again, 
and  though  the  snow  was  bad  on  the  moun 
tain  he  was  sure  as  a  wolf.  He  bade  us  good- 
by  and  left  with  his  eyes  looking  like  a  hurt 
dog's.  I  thought  she  would  have  wept  to  have 
him  go,  but  she  did  not.  She  gave  him  her 
hand  and  turned  back  to  Harold,  and  smiled 
to  him  when  he  smiled.  It  was  the  first 
time  in  all  her  life  that  I  had  not  been  glad 
to  have  her  smile,  and  I  was  sorry  Harold 
had  stayed,  and  I  watched  Cnut  climb  the 
mountain  like  a  dark  speck  against  the  snow 
till  he  disappeared.  She  was  so  happy  and 
beautiful  that  I  could  not  long  be  out  with 
her,  though  I  grieved  for  Cnut,  and  when 
she  came  to  me  and  told  me  one  night  of  her 
great  love  for  Harold  I  forgot  my  own  re 
gret  in  her  joy,  and  I  said  nothing  to  Harold, 


34  ELSKET. 

because  she  told  me  he  said  that  in  his 
country  it  was  not  usual  for  the  father  to 
be  told  or  to  speak  to  a  daughter's  lover. 

"  They  were  much  taken  up  together  after 
that,  and  I  was  alone,  and  I  missed  Cnut 
sorely,  and  would  have  longed  for  him  more 
but  for  her  happiness.  But  one  day,  when 
he  had  been  gone  two  months,  I  looked  over 
the  mountain,  and  on  the  snow  I  saw  a  black 
speck.  It  had  not  been  there  before,  and  I 
watched  it  as  it  moved,  and  I  knew  it  was 
Cnut. 

"  I  said  nothing  until  he  came,  and  then  I 
ran  and  met  him.  He  was  thin,  and  worn,  and 
older ;  but  his  eyes  had  a  look  in  them  which 
I  thought  was  joy  at  getting  home  ;  only  they 
were  not  soft,  and  he  looked  taller  than  when 
he  left,  and  he  spoke  little.  His  eyes  softened 
when  she,  hearing  his  voice,  came  out  and 
held  out  her  hand  to  him,  smiling  to  welcome 
him ;  but  he  did  not  kiss  her  as  kinsfolk  do 
after  long  absence,  and  when  Harold  came 
out  the  wolf-look  came  back  into  his  eyes. 
Harold  looked  not  so  pleased  to  see  him,  but 
held  out  his  hand  to  greet  him.  But  Cnut 
stepped  back,  and  suddenly  drawing  from  his 
breast  a  letter  placed  it  in  his  palm,  saying 


ELSKET.  35 

slowly, '  I  have  been  to  England,  Lord  Harold, 
and  have  brought  you  this  from  your  Lady 
Ethelfrid  Penrith  —  they  expect  you  to  your 
wedding  at  the  New  Year.'  Harold  turned  as 
white  as  the  snow  under  his  feet,  and  she  gave 
a  cry  and  fell  full  length  on  the  ground. 

"  Cnut  was  the  first  to  reach  her,  and  lifting 
her  in  his  arms  he  bore  her  into  the  house. 
Harold  would  have  seized  her,  but  Cnut 
brushed  him  aside  as  if  he  had  been  a  barley- 
straAV,  and  carried  her  and  laid  her  down. 
When  she  came  to  herself  she  did  not  remem 
ber  clearly  what  had  happened.  She  was 
strange  to  me  who  was  her  father,  but  she 
knew  him.  I  could  have  slain  him,  but  she 
called  him.  He  went  to  her,  and  she  under 
stood  only  that  he  was  going  away,  and  she 
wept.  He  told  her  it  was  true  that  he  had 
loved  another  woman  and  had  promised  to 
marry  her,  before  he  had  met  her,  but  now  he 
loved  her  better,  and  he  would  go  home  and 
arrange  everything  and  return;  and  she  lis 
tened  and  clung  to  him.  I  hated  him  and 
wanted  him  to  go,  but  he  was  my  guest,  and 
I  told  him  that  he  could  not  go  through  the 
snow ;  but  he  was  determined.  It  seemed  as 
if  he  wanted  now  to  get  away,  and  I  was  glad 


36  ELSKET. 

to  have  him  go,  for  my  child  was  strange  to 
me,  and  if  he  had  deceived  one  woman  I  knew 
he  might  another,  and  Cnut  said  that  the  let 
ter  he  had  sent  by  him  before  the  snow  came 
was  to  say  he  would  come  in  time  to  be  mar 
ried  at  the  New  Year ;  and  Cnut  said  he  lived 
in  a  great  castle  and  owned  broad  lands, 
more  than  one  could  see  from  the  whole 
mountain,  and  his  people  had  brought  him 
in  and  asked  him  many  questions  of  him,  and 
had  offered  him  gold  to  bring  the  letter  back, 
and  he  had  refused  the  gold,  and  brought  it 
without  the  gold;  and  some  said  he  had 
deceived  more  than  one  woman.  And  Lord 
Harold  went  to  get  ready,  and  she  wept, 
and  moaned,  and  was  strange.  And  then 
Cnut  went  to  her  and  told  her  of  his  own 
love  for  her,  and  that  he  was  loyal  to  her,  but 
she  waved  him  from  her,  and  when  he  asked 
her  to  marry  him,  for  he  loved  her  truly,  she 
said  him  nay  with  violence,  so  that  he  came 
forth  into  the  air  looking  white  as  a  leper. 
And  he  sat  down,  and  when  I  came  out  he 
was  sitting  on  a  stone,  and  had  his  knife  in 
his  hand,  looking  at  it  with  a  dangerous 
gleam  in  his  eyes;  and  just  then  she  arose 
and  came  out,  and,  seeing  him  sitting  so  with 


ELSKET.  37 

his  knife,  she  gave  a  start,  and  her  manner 
changed,  and  going  to  him  she  spoke  softly 
to  him  for  the  first  time,  and  made  him  yield 
her  up  the  knife  ;  for  she  knew  that  the  knife 
hung  loose  in  the  sheath.  But  then  she 
changed  again  and  all  her  anger  rose  against 
Cnut,  that  he  had  brought  Harold  the  letter 
which  carried  him  away,  and  Cnut  sat  saying 
nothing,  and  his  face  was  like  stone.  Then 
Lord  Harold  came  and  said  he  was  ready,  and 
he  asked  Cnut  would  he  carry  his  luggage. 
And  Cnut  at  first  refused,  and  then  suddenly 
looked  him  full  in  his  face,  and  said,  c  Yes.' 
And  Harold  entered  the  house  to  say  good-by 
to  her,  and  I  heard  her  weeping  within,  and 
my  heart  grew  hard  against  the  Englishman, 
and  Cnut's  face  was  black  with  anger,  and 
when  Harold  came  forth  I  heard  her  cry  out, 
and  he  turned  in  the  door  and  said  he  \vould 
return,  and  would  write  her  a  letter  to  let  her 
know  when  he  would  return.  But  he  said  it 
as  one  speaks  to  a  child  to  quiet  it,  not  mean 
ing  it.  And  Cnut  went  in  to  speak  to  her, 
and  I  heard  her  drive  him  out  as  if  he  had 
been  a  dog,  and  he  came  forth  with  his  face 
like  a  wolf's,  and  taking  up  Lord  Harold's 
luggage,  he  set  out.  And  so  they  went  over 
the  mountain. 


38  ELSKET. 

"  And  all  that  night  she  lay  awake,  and  I 
heard  her  moaning,  and  all  next  day  she  sat 
like  stone,  and  I  milked  the  goats,  and  her 
thoughts  were  on  the  letters  he  would  send. 

"  I  spoke  to  her,  but  she  spoke  only  of  the 
letters  to  come,  and  I  kept  silence,  for  I  had 
seen  that  Lord  Harold  would  come  no  more ; 
for  I  had  seen  him  burn  the  little  things  she 
had  given  him,  and  he  had  taken  everything 
away,  but  I  could  not  tell  her  so.  And  the 
days  passed,  and  I  hoped  that  Cnut  would 
come  straight  back ;  but  he  did  not.  It  grieved 
me,  for  I  loved  him,  and  hoped  that  he  would 
return,  and  that  in  time  she  would  forget 
Lord  Harold,  and  not  be  strange,  but  be  as 
she  had  been  to  Cnut  before  he  came.  Yet  I 
thought  it  not  wholly  wonderful  that  Cnut 
did  not  return  at  once,  nor  unwise ;  for  she 
was  lonely,  and  would  sit  all  day  looking  up 
the  mountain,  and  when  he  came  she  would, 
I  thought,  be  glad  to  have  him  back. 

"  At  the  end  of  a  week  she  began  to  urge 
me  to  go  for  a  letter.  But  I  told  her  it 
could  not  come  so  soon ;  but  when  another 
week  had  passed  she  began  to  sew,  and  when 
I  asked  her  what  she  sewed,  she  said  her 
bridal  dress,  and  she  became  so  that  I  agreed 


ELSKET.  39 

to  go,  for  I  knew  no  letter  would  come,  and 
it  broke  my  heart  to  see  her.  And  when  I 
was  ready  she  kissed  me,  and  wept  in  my 
arms,  and  called  me  her  good  father ;  and  so 
I  started. 

"  She  stood  in  the  door  and  watched  me 
climb  the  mountain,  and  waved  to  me  almost 


"  The  snow  was  deep,  but  I  followed  the 
track  which  Cnut  and  the  Englishman  had 
made  two  weeks  before,  for  no  new  snow  had 
fallen,  and  I  saw  that  one  track  was  ever 
behind  the  other,  and  never  beside  it,  as  if 
Cnut  had  fallen  back  and  followed  behind 
him. 

And  so  I  came  near  to  the  Devil's  Seat, 
where  it  was  difficult,  and  from  where  Cnut 
had  brought  him  in  his  arms  that  day,  and 
then,  for  the  first  time,  I  began  to  fear,  for  I 
remembered  Cnut's  look  as  he  came  from 
the  house  when  she  waved  him  off,  and  it  had 
been  so  easy  for  him  with  a  swing  of  his  strong 
arm  to  have  pushed  the  other  over  the  cliff. 
But  when  I  saw  that  he  had  driven  his  stick 
in  deep  to  hold  hard,  and  that  the  tracks  went 
on  beyond,  I  breathed  freely  again,  and  so  I 
passed  the  narrow  path,  and  the  black  wall, 


40  ELSKET. 

and  came  to  the  Devil's  Seat ;  and  as  I  turned 
the  rock  my  heart  stopped  beating,  and  I  had 
nearly  fallen  from  the  ledge.     For  there,  scat 
tered  and  half-buried  in  the  snow,  lay  the  pack 
Cnut  had  carried  on  his  back,  and  the  snow 
was  all  dug  up  and  piled  about  as  if  stags  had 
been   fighting   there   for   their  lives.     From 
the  wall,  across  and  back,  were  deep  furrows, 
as  if  they  were  ploughed  by  men's  feet  dug 
fiercely  in  ;  but  they  were  ever  deeper  toward 
the  edge,  and  on  one  spot  at  the  edge  the 
snow  was  all  torn  clear  from  the  black  rock, 
and   beyond   the   seat   the   narrow  path  lay 
smooth,  and  bright,  and  level  as  it  had  fallen, 
without  a  track.     My  knees  shook  under  me, 
and  I  clutched   my   stick   for  support,   and 
everything  grew  black  before  me :  and  pres 
ently  I  fell  on   my  knees  and  crawled  and 
peered  over  the  edge.     But  there  was  noth 
ing  to  be  seen,  only  where  the  wall  slants 
sharp  down  for  a  little  space  in  one  spot  the 
snow  was  brushed  away  as  if  something  had 
struck   there,   and   the    black,   smooth   rock 
showed    clean,    cutting    off    the   sight   from 
the  glacier  a  thousand  feet  down." 

The  old  man's  breast  heaved.     It  was  evi 
dently  a  painful  narrative,  but  he  kept  on. 


ELSKET.  41 

"I  sat  down  in  the  snow  and  thought;  for  I 
could  not  think  at  once.  Cnut  had  not  wished 
to  murder,  or  else  he  had  flung  the  English 
man  from  the  narrow  ledge  with  one  blow  of 
his  strong  arm.  He  had  waited  until  they 
had  stood  on  the  Devil's  Seat,  and  then  he  had 
thrown  off  his  pack  and  faced  him,  man  to 
man.  The  Englishman  was  strong  and  active, 
taller  and  heavier  than  Cnut.  He  had  Har- 
ald's  name,  but  he  had  not  Harald's  heart  nor 
blood,  and  Cnut  had  carried  him  in  his  arms 
over  the  cliff,  with  his  false  heart  like  water 
in  his  body. 

"I  sat  there  all  day  and  into  the  night; 
for  I  knew  that  he  would  betray  no  one  more. 
I  sorrowed  for  Cnut,  for  he  was  my  very  son. 
And  after  a  time  I  would  have  gone  back  to 
her,  but  I  thought  of  her  at  home  waiting  and 
watching  for  me  with  a  letter,  and  I  could  not ; 
and  then  I  wept,  and  I  wished  that  I  were 
Cnut,  for  I  knew  that  he  had  had  one  moment 
of  joy  when  he  took  the  Englishman  in  his 
arms.  And  then  I  took  the  scattered  things 
from  the  snow  and  threw  them  over  the  cliff; 
for  I  would  not  let  it  be  known  that  Cnut  had 
flung  the  Englishman  over.  It  would  be 
talked  about  over  the  mountain,  and  Cnut 


42  ELSKET. 

would  be  thought  a  murderer  by  those  who 
did  not  know,  and  some  would  say  he  had 
done  it  foully;  and  so  I  went  on  over  the 
mountain,  and  told  it  there  that  Cnut  and  the 
Englishman  had  gone  over  the  cliff  together 
in  the  snow  on  their  way,  and  it  was  thought 
that  a  slip  of  snow  had  carried  them.  And  I 
came  back  and  told  her  only  that  no  letter 
had  come." 

He  was  silent  so  long  that  I  thought  he 
had  ended ;  but  presently,  in  a  voice  so  low 
that  it  was  just  like  a  whisper,  he  added :  "  I 
thought  she  would  forget,  but  she  has  not, 
and  every  fortnight  she  begins  to  sew  her 
dress  and  I  go  over  the  mountains  to  give 
her  peace ;  for  each  time  she  draws  nearer  to 
the  end,  and  wears  away  more  and  more ;  and 
some  day  the  thin  blade  will  snap." 

"  The  thin  blade "  was  already  snapping, 
and  even  while  he  was  speaking  the  last  fibres 
were  giving  way. 

The  silence  which  followed  his  words  was 
broken  by  Elsket;  I  heard  a  strange  sound, 
and  Elsket  called  feebly,  "  Oh,  father." 

Olaf  went  quickly  to  her  bedside.  I  heard 
him  say,  "  My  God  in  Heaven  !  "  and  I  sprang 
up  and  joined  him.  It  was  a  hemorrhage. 


ELSKET.  43 

Her   life-blood   was   flowing   from   her    lips. 
She  could  not  last  like  that  ten  minutes. 

Providentially  the  remedies  provided  by 
Doctor  John  were  right  at  hand,  and,  thanks 
to  them,  the  crimson  tide  was  stayed  before 
life  went  out;  but  it  was  soon  apparent  that 
her  strength  was  gone  and  her  power  ex 
hausted. 

We  worked  over  her,  but  her  pulse  was 
running  down  like  a  broken  clock.  There 
was  no  time  to  have  got  a  physician,  even 
had  there  been  one  to  get.  I  mentioned  it ; 
Olaf  shook  his  head.  "  She  is  in  the  hands 
of  God,"  he  said. 

Olaf  never  left  the  bedside  except  to  heat 
water  or  get  some  stimulant  for  her. 

But,  notwithstanding  every  effort,  she 
failed  to  rally.  The  overtaxed  heart  was 
giving  out,  and  all  day  she  sank  steadily. 
I  never  saw  such  a  desperate  face  as  that  old 
man's.  It  haunts  me  now.  He  hung  over 
her.  He  held  her  hand,  now  growing  cold, 
against  his  cheek  to  keep  it  warm  —  stroked 
it  and  kissed  it.  As  towards  evening  the 
short,  quick  breaths  came,  which  precede 
dissolution,  he  sank  on  his  knees.  At  first, 
he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands;  then  in 


44:  ELSKET. 

the  agony  of  his  despair,  he  began  to  speak 
aloud.  I  never  heard  a  more  moving  appeal. 
It  was  a  man  speaking  face  to  face  with  God 
for  one  about  to  enter  his  presence.  His  eyes 
were  wide  open,  as  if  he  saw  His  face.  He 
did  not  ask  that  she  should  be  spared  to  him ; 
it  was  all  for  his  "  Elska,"  his  "  Darling," 
that  Jesus  would  be  her  "  Herder,"  and  lead 
her  beside  the  still  waters;  that  she  might 
be  spared  all  suffering  and  sorrow,  and  have 
peace. 

Presently  he  ended  and  buried  his  face  in 
his  hands.  The  quick,  faint  breaths  had  died 
away,  and  as  I  looked  on  the  still  white  face 
on  the  pillow  I  thought  that  she  had  gone. 
But  suddenly  the  large  eyes  slowly  opened 
wide. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  faintly. 

"  Elsket,"  the  old  man  bent  over  her 
eagerly. 

"  I  am  so  tired." 

"  My  Elsket." 

"  I  love  you." 

"  Yes,  my  Elsket." 

"  You  will  stay  with  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  always." 

"  If  Cnut  comes  ?  " 


ELSKET.  45 

"  Yes,  my  Elsket." 

"  If  Cnut  comes  —      "  very  faintly. 

Her  true  lover's  name  was  the  last  on  her 
lips. 

He  bent  his  ear  to  her  lips.     "  Yes  ?  " 

But  we  never  knew  just  what  she  wanted. 
The  dim,  large  eyes  closed,  and  then  the  lids 
lifted  slowly  a  little ;  there  was  a  sigh,  and 
Elsket's  watching  was  over ;  the  weary  spirit 
was  at  peace. 

"  She  is  with  God,"  he  said,  calmly. 

I  closed  the  white  lids  gently,  and  moved 
out.  Later  I  offered  to  help  him,  hut  he  said 
"No,"  and  I  remained  out  of  doors  till  the 
afternoon. 

About  sunset  he  appeared  and  went  up 
toward  the  old  church,  and  I  went  into  the 
house.  I  found  that  he  had  laid  her  out  in 
the  large  room,  and  she  lay  with  her  face 
slightly  turned  as  if  asleep.  She  was  dressed 
like  a  bride  in  the  bridal  dress  she  had  sewn 
so  long ;  her  hair  was  unbound,  and  lay  about 
her,  fine  and  silken,  and  she  wore  the  old  sil 
ver  ornaments  she  had  showed  me.  No  bride 
had  ever  a  more  faithful  attendant.  He  had 
put  them  all  upon  her. 

After  a  time,  as  he  did  not  come  back,  I 


46  ELSKET. 

went  to  look  for  him.  As  I  approached 
I  heard  a  dull,  thumping  sound.  When  I 
reached  the  cleared  place  I  found  him  dig 
ging.  He  had  chosen  a  spot  just  in  front  of 
the  quaint  old  door,  with  the  rude,  runic  let 
ters,  which  the  earliest  sunbeams  would  touch. 
As  I  came  up  I  saw  he  was  digging  her  grave. 
I  offered  to  help,  but  he  said  "  No."  So  I  car 
ried  him  some  food  and  placing  it  near  him 
left  him. 

Late  that  evening  he  came  down  and  asked 
me  if  I  would  sit  up  that  night.  I  told  him, 
yes.  He  thanked  me  and  went  into  the  house. 
In  a  little  while  he  came  out  and  silently  went 
up  the  path  toward  the  mountain. 

It  was  a  strange  night  that  I  spent  in  that 
silent  valley  in  that  still  house,  only  I,  and 
the  dead  girl  lying  there  so  white  and  peace 
ful.  I  had  strange  thoughts,  and  the  earth 
and  things  earthly  disappeared  for  me  that 
night  shut  in  by  those  mountain  walls.  I 
was  in  a  world  alone.  I  was  cut  off  from  all 
but  God  and  the  dead.  I  have  dear  ones  in 
heaven,  and  I  was  nearer  to  them  that  night, 
amid  the  mountain-tops  of  Norway,  than  I 
was  to  earthly  friends.  I  think  I  was  nearer 
to  heaven  that  night  than  I  ever  shall  be 
again  till  I  get  there. 


ELSKET.  47 

Day  broke  like  a  great  pearl,  but  I  did  not 
heed  it.  It  was  all  peace. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  step  outside,  and 
Olaf,  with  his  face  drawn  and  gray,  and  bow 
ing  under  the  weight  of  the  burden  upon  his 
shoulder,  stepped  wearily  in  at  the  door. 

To  do  Elsket  honor  he  had  been  over  the 
mountain  to  get  it.  I  helped  lift  it  down 
and  place  it,  and  then  he  waited  for  me  to  go. 
As  I  passed  out  of  the  door  I  saw  him  bend 
over  the  quiet  sleeper.  I  looked  in  later  ;  he 
had  placed  her  in  the  coffin,  but  the  top  was 
not  on  and  he  was  on  his  knees  beside  her. 

He  did  not  bury  her  that  day;  but  he  never 
left  her  side  ;  he  sat  by  her  all  day  and  all 
night.  Next  day  he  came  to  the  door  and 
looked  at  me.  I  went  in  and  understood  that 
he  wanted  me  to  look  for  the  last  time  on  her 
face.  It  was  fairer  than  I  ever  saw  it.  He 
had  cut  her  flowers  and  placed  them  all  about 
her,  and  on  her  breast  was  a  small  packet  of 
letters.  All  care,  all  suffering,  all  that  was 
merely  of  the  earth  were  cleansed  away,  and 
she  looked  as  she  lay,  like  a  dead  angel. 
After  I  came  out  I  heard  him  fastening  on 
the  top,  and  when  he  finished  I  went  in  again. 
He  would  have  attempted  to  carry  it  by  him- 


48  ELSKET. 

self,  but  I  restrained  him,  and  without  a  word 
he  took  the  head  and  I  the  foot,  and  so  lift 
ing  her  tenderly  we  went  gently  out  and  up 
toward  the  church.  We  had  to  pause  and 
rest  several  times,  for  he  was  almost  worn  out. 
After  we  had  lowered  her  into  the  grave  I 
was  in  doubt  what  to  do ;  but  Olaf  drew  from 
his  coat  his  two  books,  and  standing  close  by 
the  side  of  the  grave  he  opened  first  the  little 
Bible  and  began  to  read  in  a  low  but  distinct 
voice  :  "  Lord,  thou  hast  been  our  refuge,  from 
one  generation  to  another.  Before  the  moun 
tains  were  brought  forth,  or  ever  the  earth 
and  the  world  were  made,  thou  art  God  from 
everlasting,  and  world  without  end." 

When  he  finished  this  he  turned  and  read 
again :  "  Now  is  Christ  risen  from  the  dead,  and 
become  the  first-fruits  of  them  that  slept,"  etc. 
They  were  the  Psalm  and  the  chapter  which 
I  had  heard  him  read  to  Elsket  that  first  day 
when  she  became  excited,  and  with  which  he 
had  so  often  charmed  her  restless  spirit. 

He  closed,  and  I  thought  he  was  done,  but 
he  opened  his  hymn-book  and  turning  over  a 
few  leaves  sang  the  same  hymn  he  had  sung 
to  her  that  day.  He  sang  it  all  through  to 
the  end,  the  low,  strange,  dirge-like  hymn, 


ELSKET.  49 

and  chanted  as  it  was  by  that  old  man  alone, 
standing  in  the  fading  evening  light  beside 
the  grave  which  he  had  dug  for  his  daughter, 
the  last  of  his  race,  I  never  heard  anything 
so  moving.  Then  he  knelt,  and  clasping  his 
hands  offered  a  prayer.  The  words,  from 
habit,  ran  almost  as  they  had  done  when  he 
had  prayed  for  Elsket  before,  that  God  would 
be  her  Shepherd,  her  "  Herder,"  and  lead  her 
beside  the  still  waters,  and  give  her  peace. 

When  he  was  through  I  waited  a  little,  and 
then  I  took  up  a  spade  to  help  him ;  but  he 
reached  out  and  took  it  quietly,  and  seeing 
that  he  wanted  to  be  alone  I  left  him.  He 
meant  to  do  for  Elsket  all  the  last  sacred 
offices  himself. 

I  was  so  fatigued  that  on  reaching  the 
house  I  dropped  off  to  sleep  and  slept  till 
morning,  and  I  do  not  know  when  he  came 
into  the  house,  if  he  came  at  all.  When  I 
waked  early  next  morning  he  was  not  there, 
and  I  rose  and  went  up  to  the  church  to  hunt 
for  him.  He  was  sitting  quietly  beside  the 
grave,  and  I  saw  that  he  had  placed  at  her 
head  a  little  cross  of  birchwood,  on  which  he 
had  burned  one  word,  simply, 

"ELSKET." 


50  ELSKET. 

I  spoke  to  him,  asking  him  to  come  to  the 
house. 

u  I  cannot  leave  her,"  he  said ;  but  when  I 
urged  him  he  rose  silently  and  returned  with 
me. 

I  remained  with  him  for  a  while  after  that, 
and  each  day  he  went  and  sat  by  the  grave. 
At  last  I  had  to  leave.  I  urged  him  to  come 
with  me,  but  he  replied  always,  "  No,  I  must 
watch  over  Elsket." 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  we  set  off 
to  cross  the  mountain.  We  came  by  the 
same  path  by  which  I  had  gone,  Olaf  leading 
me  as  carefully  and  holding  me  as  steadily  as 
when  I  went  over  before.  I  stopped  at  the 
church  to  lay  a  few  wild  flowers  on  the  little 
gray  mound  where  Elsket  slept  so  quietly. 
Olaf  said  not  a  word ;  he  simply  waited  till  I 
was  done  and  then  followed  me  dumbly.  I 
was  so  filled  with  sorrow  for  him  that  I  did 
not,  except  in  one  place,  think  much  of  the 
fearful  cliffs  along  which  we  made  our  w^ay. 
At  the  Devil's  Seat,  indeed,  my  nerves  for  a 
moment  seemed  shaken  and  almost  gave  way 
as  I  thought  of  the  false  young  lord  whose 
faithlessness  had  caused  all  the  misery  to 
these  simple,  kindly  folk,  and  of  the  fierce 


ELSKET.  51 

young  Norseman  who  had  there  found  so 
sweet  a  revenge.  But  we  came  on  and  passed 
the  ledge,  and  descending  struck  the  broader 
path  just  after  the  day  broke,  where  it  was 
no  longer  perilous  but  only  painful. 

There  Olaf  paused.  "  I  will  go  back  if  you 
don't  want  me,"  he  said.  I  did  not  need  his 
services,  but  I  urged  him  to  come  on  with 
me  —  to  pay  a  visit  to  his  friends.  "  I  have 
none,"  he  said,  simply.  Then  to  come  home 
with  me  and  live  with  me  in  old  Virginia. 
He  said,  "  No,"  he  "  must  watch  over  Elsket." 
So  finally  I  had  to  give  in,  and  with  a  clasp 
of  the  hand  and  a  message  to  "  her  friend  " 
Doctor  John,  to  "  remember  Elsket,"  he  went 
back  and  was  soon  lost  amid  the  rocks. 

I  was  half-way  down  when  I  reached  a 
cleared  place  an  hour  or  so  later,  and  turned 
to  look  back.  The  sharp  angle  of  the  Devil's 
Lodge  was  the  highest  point  visible,  the  very 
pinnacle  of  the  mountain,  and  there,  clear 
against  the  burnished  steel  of  the  morning 
sky,  on  the  very  edge,  clear  in  the  rare  at 
mosphere  was  a  small  figure.  It  stood  for  a 
second,  a  black  point  distinctly  outlined,  and 
then  disappeared. 

It  was  Olaf  of  the  Mountain,  gone  back  to 
keep  watch  over  Elsket. 


GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST 
DUEL. 


OF  all  the  places  in  the  county  "  The 
Towers  "  was  the  favorite  with  the  young 
people.  There  even  before  Margaret  was 
installed  the  Major  kept  open  house  with  his 
major  domo  and  factotum  "  George  Wash 
ington  "  ;  and  when  Margaret  came  from 
school,  of  course  it  was  popular.  Only  one 
class  of  persons  was  excluded. 

There  were  few  people  in  the  county  who 
did  not  know  of  the  Major's  antipathy  to  "old 
women,"  as  he  called  them.  Years  no  more 
entered  into  his  definition  of  this  class  than 
celibacy  did  into  his  idea  of  an  "old  bach 
elor."  The  state  of  single  blessedness  con 
tinued  in  the  female  sex  beyond  the  bloom  of 
youth  was  in  his  eyes  the  sole  basis  of  this 
unpardonable  condition.  He  made  certain 
concessions  to  the  few  individuals  among  his 
neighbors  who  had  remained  in  the  state  of 

52 


"GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.    53 

spinsterhood,  because,  as  he  declared,  neigh- 
borliness  was  a  greater  virtue  than  consist 
ency  ;  but  he  drew  the  line  at  these  few,  and 
it  was  his  boast  that  no  old  woman  had  ever 
been  able  to  get  into  his  Eden.  "  One  of 
them,"  he  used  to  say,  "  would  close  paradise 
just  as  readily  now  as  Eve  did  six  thousand 
years  ago."  Thus,  although  as  Margaret 
grew  up  she  had  any  other  friends  she  de 
sired  to  visit  her  as  often  as  she  chose,  her 
wish  being  the  supreme  law  at  Rock  Towers, 
she  had  never  even  thought  of  inviting  one 
of  the  class  against  whom  her  uncle's  ruddy 
face  was  so  steadfastly  set.  The  first  time 
it  ever  occurred  to  her  to  invite  any  one 
among  the  proscribed  was  when  she  asked 
Rose  Endicott  to  pay  her  a  visit.  Rose,  she 
knew,  was  living  with  her  old  aunt,  Miss 
Jemima  Bridges,  whom  she  had  once  met  in 

R ,  and  she  had  some  apprehension  that 

in  Miss  Jemima's  opinion,  the  condition  of 
the  South  wras  so  much  like  that  of  the 
Sandwich  Islands  that  the  old  lady  would  not 
permit  Rose  to  come  without  her  personal 
escort.  Accordingly,  one  evening  after  tea, 
when  the  Major  was  in  a  particularly  gracious 
humor,  and  had  told  her  several  of  his  oldest 


54  "  GEOE GE  WA SHIN G TON ' S "  LAST  D UEL. 

and  best  stories,  Margaret  fell  upon  him  un 
awares,  and  before  he  had  recovered  from  the 
shock  of  the  encounter,  had  captured  his  con 
sent.  Then,  in  order  to  secure  the  leverage 
of  a  dispatched  invitation,  she  had  immedi 
ately  written  Rose,  asking  her  and  her  aunt  to 
come  and  spend  a  month  or  two  with  her,  and 
had  without  delay  handed  it  to  George  Wash 
ington  to  deliver  to  Lazarus  to  give  Luke 
to  carry  to  the  post-office.  The  next  evening, 
therefore,  when  the  Major,  after  twenty-four 
hours  of  serious  apprehension,  reopened  the 
matter  with  a  fixed  determination  to  coax  or 
buy  her  out  of  the  notion,  because,  as  he  used 
to  say,  "women  can't  be  reasoned  out  of  a 
thing,  sir,  not  having  been  reasoned  in,"  Mar 
garet  was  able  to  meet  him  with  the  announce* 
ment  that  it  was  "  too  late,"  as  the  letter  had 
already  been  mailed. 

Seated  in  one  of  the  high-backed  arm-chairs, 
with  one  white  hand  shading  her  laughing 
eyes  from  the  light,  and  with  her  evening 
dress  daintily  spread  out  about  her,  Margaret 
was  amused  at  the  look  of  desperation  on  the 
old  gentleman's  ruddy  face.  He  squared  his 
round  body  before  the  fire,  braced  himself 
with  his  plump  legs  well  apart,  as  if  he  were 


"  GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.     55 

preparing  to  sustain  the  shock  of  a  blow, 
and  "taking  a  deep  inspiration,  gave  a  loud 
and  prolonged  "  Whew  !  " 

This  was  too  much  for  her. 

Margaret  rose,  and,  going  up  to  him,  took 
his  arm  and  looked  into  his  face  cajolingly. 

"  Uncle,  I  was  bound  to  have  Rose,  and 
Miss  Jemima  would  not  have  let  her  come 
alone." 

The  tone  was  the  low,  almost  plaintive  key, 
the  effectiveness  of  which  Margaret  knew  so 
well. 

" '  Not  let  her !  '  "  The  Major  faced  her 
quickly.  "  Margaret,  she  is  one  of  those 
strong-minded  women ! " 

Margaret  nodded  brightly. 

"  I  bet  my  horse  she  wears  iron-gray  curls, 
caught  on  the  side  of  her  head  with  tucking 
combs ! " 

"She  does,"  declared  Margaret,  her  eyes 
dancing. 

"And  has  a  long  nose  —  red  at  the  end." 

"Uncle,  you  have  seen  her.  I  know  you 
have  seen  her,"  asserted  Margaret,  laughing 
up  at  him.  "  You  have  her  very  picture." 

The  Major  groaned,  and  vowed  that  he 
would  never  survive  it,  and  that  Margaret 


56  *  *  GEOR  GE  WA  SHIN  G  TON '  S  "  LAST  D  UEL. 

would  go  down  to  history  as  the  slayer  of 
her  uncle. 

"  I  have  selected  my  place  in  the  grave 
yard,"  he  said,  with  a  mournful  shake  of  the 
head.  "Put  me  close  to  the  fence  behind 
the  raspberry  thicket,  where  I  shall  be  secure. 
Tell  her  there  are  snakes  there." 

"  But,  uncle,  she  is  as  good  as  gold,"  de 
clared  Margaret ;  "  she  is  always  doing  good, 
—  I  believe  she  thinks  it  her  mission  to  save 
the  world." 

The  Major  burst  out,  "  That's  part  of  this 
modern  devilment  of  substituting  humanita- 
rianism  for  Christianity.  Next  thing  they'll 
be  wanting  to  abolish  hell !  " 

The  Major  was  so  impressed  with  his  peril 
that  when  Jeff,  who  had  galloped  over  "  for  a 
little  while,"  entered,  announced  with  great 
ceremony  by  George  Washington,  he  poured 
out  all  his  apprehensions  into  his  sympathetic 
ear,  and  it  was  only  when  he  began  to  rally 
Jeff  on  the  chance  of  his  becoming  a  victim 
to  Miss  Endicott's  charms,  that  Margaret  in 
terfered  so  far  as  to  say,  that  Rose  had  any 
number  of  lovers,  and  one  of  them  was  "  an 
awfully  nice  fellow,  handsome  and  rich  and 
all  that."  She  wished  "  some  one  "  would 


"  GEORGE  WASHING  TON '  8  "  LAST  D  UEL.     57 

invite  him  down  to  pay  a  visit  in  the  neigh 
borhood,  for  she  was  "  afraid  Rose  would  find 
it  dreadfully  dull  in  the  country."  The 
Major  announced  that  he  would  himself  make 
love  to  her ;  but  both  Margaret  and  Jeff  de 
clared  that  Providence  manifestly  intended 
him  for  Miss  Jemima.  He  then  suggested 
that  Miss  Endicott's  friend  be  invited  to  come 
with  her,  but  Margaret  "did  not  think  that 
would  do. 

"  What  is  the  name  of  this  Paragon  ?  "  in 
quired  Jeff. 

Margaret  gave  his  name.  "  Mr.  Lawrence 
—  Pickering  Lawrence." 

"  Why,  I  know  him,  4  Pick  Lawrence.' 
We  were  college-mates,  class-mates.  He  used 
to  be  in  love  with  somebody  up  at  his  home 
then;  but  I  never  identified  her  with  your 
friend.  We  were  great  cronies  at  the  Uni 
versity.  He  was  going  to  be  a  lawyer ;  but 
I  believe  somebody  died  and  he  came  into  a 
fortune."  This  history  did  not  appear  to 
surprise  Margaret  as  much  as  might  have 
been  expected,  and  she  said  nothing  more 
about  him. 

About  a  week  later  Jeff  took  occasion  to 
ride  over  to  tea,  and  announced  that  his  friend 


58     "GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

Mr.  Lawrence  had  promised  to  run  down  and 
spend  a  few  weeks  with  him.  Margaret  looked 
so  pleased  and  dwelt  so  much  on  the  alleged 
charms  of  the  expected  guest  that  Jeff,  with 
a  pang  of  jealousy,  suddenly  asserted  that  he 
"  didn't  think  so  much  of  Lawrence,"  that  he 
was  one  of  those  fellows  who  always  pretended 
to  be  very  much  in  love  with  somebody,  and 
was  "  always  changing  his  clothes." 

"That's  what  girls  like,"  said  Margaret, 
decisively;  and  this  was  all  the  thanks  Jen1 
received. 


II. 

THERE  was  immense  excitement  at  the 
Towers  next  day  when  the  visitors  were  ex 
pected.  The  Major  took  twice  his  usual  period 
to  dress;  George  Washington  with  a  view  to 
steadying  his  nerves  braced  them  so  tight 
that  he  had  great  difficulty  in  maintaining  his 
equipoise,  and  even  Margaret  herself  was  in 
a  flutter  quite  unusual  to  one  so  self-possessed 
as  she  generally  was.  When,  however,  the 
carriage  drove  up  to  the  door,  the  Major, 
with  Margaret  a  little  in  advance,  met  the 
visitors  at  the  steps  in  all  the  glory  of  new 


"GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.     59 

blue  broadcloth  and  flowered  velvet.  Sir 
Charles  Grandison  could  not  have  been  more 
elegant,  nor  Sir  Roger  more  gracious.  Be 
hind  him  yet  grander  stood  George  —  George 
Washington  —  his  master's  fac-simile  in  ebony 
down  to  the  bandanna  handkerchief  and  the 
trick  of  waving  the  right  hand  in  a  flowing 
curve.  It  was  perhaps  this  spectacle  which 
saved  the  Major,  for  Miss  Jemima  was  so 
overwhelmed  by  George  Washington's  por 
tentous  dignity  that  she  exhibited  sufficient 
humility  to  place  the  Major  immediately  at 
his  ease,  and  from  this  time  Miss  Jemima  was 
at  a  disadvantage,  and  the  Major  felt  that  he 
was  master  of  the  situation. 

The  old  lady  had  never  been  in  the  South 
before  except  for  a  few  days  on  the  occasion 
when  Margaret  had  met  her  and  Rose  Endi- 

cott  at  the  hotel  in  R ,  and  she  had  then 

seen  just  enough  to  excite  her  inquisitiveness. 
Her  natural  curiosity  was  quite  amazing.  She 
was  desperately  bent  on  acquiring  informa 
tion,  and  whatever  she  heard  she  set  down  in 
a  journal,  so  as  soon  as  she  became  sufficiently 
acquainted  with  the  Major  she  began  to  ply 
him  with  questions.  Her  seat  at  table  was  at 
the  Major's  right,  and  the  questions  which 


60  "  GEORGE  WA  SUING  TON '  5 ' '  LAST  D  UEL. 

she  put  to  him  proved  so  embarrassing,  that 
the  old  gentleman  declared  to  Margaret  that 
if  that  old  woman  knew  as  much  as  she 
wanted  to  know  she  would  with  her  wisdom 
eclipse  Solomon  and  destroy  the  value  of  the 
Scriptures.  He  finally  hit  upon  an  expedient. 
He  either  traversed  every  proposition  she 
suggested,  or  else  answered  every  inquiry 
with  a  statement  which  was  simply  astound 
ing.  She  had  therefore  not  been  at  the 
Towers  a  week  before  she  was  in  the  posses 
sion  of  facts  furnished  by  the  Major  which 
might  have  staggered  credulity  itself. 

One  of  the  many  entries  in  her  journal  was 

to  the  effect  that,  according  to  Major  B , 

it  was  the  custom  on  many  plantations  to  shoot 
a  slave  every  year,  on  the  ground  that  such 
a  sacrifice  was  generally  salutary  ;  that  it  was 
an  expiation  of  past  derelictions  and  a  deter 
rent  from  repetition.  And  she  added  this 
memorandum : 

"  The  most  extraordinary  and  revolting  part 
of  it  all  is  that  this  barbarous  custom,  which , 
might  well  have  been  supposed  confined  to 
Dahomey,  is  justified  by  such  men  as  Major 

B as  a  pious  act."  She  inserted  this  query, 

"  Can  it  be  true  ?  " 


"GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.     61 

If  she  did  not  wholly  believe  the  Major,  she 
did  not  altogether  disbelieve  him.  She  at  least 
was  firmly  convinced  that  it  was  quite  possible. 
She  determined  to  inquire  privately  of  George 
Washington. 

She  might  have  inquired  of  one  of  the  nu 
merous  maids,  whose  useless  presence  em 
barrassed  her ;  but  the  Major  foreseeing  that 
she  might  pursue  her  investigation  in  other 
directions,  had  informed  her  that  the  rite  was 
guarded  with  the  greatest  care,  and  that  it 
would  be  as  much  as  any  one's  life  were  worth 
to  divulge  it.  Miss  Jemima,  therefore,  was 
too  loyal  to  expose  one  of  her  own  sex  to 
such  danger ;  so  she  was  compelled  to  con 
sult  George  Washington,  whom  she  believed 
clever  enough  to  take  care  of  himself. 

She  accordingly  watched  several  days  for 
an  opportunity  to  see  him  alone,  but  without 
success.  In  fact,  though  she  was  unaware  of 
it,  George  Washington  had  conceived  for  her 
a  most  violent  dislike,  and  carefully  avoided 
her.  He  had  observed  with  growing  suspi 
cion  Miss  Jemima's  investigation  of  matters 
relating  to  the  estate,  and  her  persistent  pur 
suit  of  knowledge  at  the  table  had  confirmed 
him  in  his  idea  that  she  contemplated  the 
capture  of  his  master  and  himself. 


G2    "GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

Like  his  master,  he  had  a  natural  antipathy 
to  "  old  women,"  and  as  the  Major's  threat  for 
years  had  varied  between  "  setting  him  free 
next  morning  "  and  giving  him  "  a  mistress 
to  make  him  walk  straight,"  George  Wash 
ington  felt  that  prudence  demanded  some 
vigilance  on  his  part. 

One  day,  under  cover  of  the  hilarity  inci 
dent  to  the  presence  at  dinner  of  Jeff  and  of 
his  guest,  Mr.  Lawrence,  Miss  Jemima  had 
pushed  her  inquisition  even  further  than  usual. 
George  Washington  watched  her  with  grow 
ing  suspicion,  his  head  thrown  back  and  his 
eyes  half  closed,  and  so,  when,  just  before 
dinner  was  over,  he  went  into  the  hall  to  see 
about  the  fire,  he,  after  his  habit,  took  occasion 
to  express  his  opinion  of  affairs  to  the  sundry 
members  of  the  family  who  looked  down  at 
him  from  their  dim  gilt  frames  on  the  wall. 

"  I  ain't  pleased  wid  de  way  things  is  gwine 
on  heah  at  all,"  he  declared,  poking  the  fire 
viciously  and  addressing  his  remark  more  par 
ticularly  to  an  old  gentlemen  who  in  ruffles 
and  red  velvet  sat  with  crossed  legs  in  a  high- 
backed  chair  just  over  the  piano.  "  Heah  me 
an'  Marse  Nat  an'  Miss  Margaret  been  gittin' 
long  all  dese  years  easy  an'  peaceable,  an' 


"GEOEGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.    63 

Marse  Jeff  been  comin'  over  sociable  all  de 
time,  an'  d'  ain'  been  no  trouble  nor  nuttin' 
till  now  dat  ole  ooman  what  ax  mo'  questions 
'n  a  thousan'  folks  kin  answer  got  to  come 
heah  and  set  up  to  Marse  Nat,  an'  talk  to  him 
so  he  cyarn  hardly  eat."  He  rose  from  his 
knees  at  the  hearth,  and  looking  the  old  gen 
tleman  over  the  piano  squarely  in  the  face, 
asserted,  "  She  got  her  mine  sot  on  bein'  my 
mistis,  dat's  what  'tis  !  "  This  relieved  him 
so  that  he  returned  to  his  occupation  of 
"  chunking  "  the  fire,  adding,  "  When  women 
sets  de  mines  on  a  thing,  you  jes'  well  gin  up !  " 

So  intent  was  he  on  relieving  himself  of  the 
burden  on  his  mind  that  he  did  not  hear  the 
door  softly  open,  and  did  not  know  any  one  had 
entered  until  an  enthusiastic  voice  behind  him 
exclaimed : 

"  Oh !  what  a  profound  observation ! "  George 
Washington  started  in  much  confusion  ;  for  it 
was  Miss  Jemima,  who  had  stolen  away  from 
the  table  to  intercept  him  at  his  task  of  "  fix 
ing  the  fires."  She  had,  however,  heard  only 
his  concluding  sentence,  and  she  now  ad 
vanced  with  a  beaming  smile  intended  to  con 
ciliate  the  old  butler.  George-  Washington 
gave  the  hearth  a  final  and  hasty  sweep,  and 


64    "GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

was  retiring  in  a  long  detour  around  Miss 
Jemima  when  she  accosted  him. 

"  Uncle  George." 

"  Marm."     He  stopped  and  half  turned. 

"  What  a  charming  old  place  you  have  here !  " 

George  Washington  cast  his  eye  up  towards 
the  old  gentleman  in  the  high-backed  chair,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  You  see  there  ?  What  did 
I  tell  you  ?  "  Then  he  said  briefly  : 

"  Yes,  'm." 

"  What  is  its  extent  ?  How  many  acres  are 
there  in  it?" 

George  Washington  positively  started.  He 
took  in  several  of  the  family  in  his  glance  of 
warning. 

"Well,  I  declare,  marm,  I  don't  know," 
he  began ;  then  it  occurring  to  him  that  the 
honor  of  the  family  was  somehow  at  stake  and 
must  be  upheld,  he  added,  "  A  leetle  mo'  'n  a 
hundred  thousan',  marm."  His  exactness  was 
convincing.  Miss  Jemima  threw  up  her  hands : 

"  Prodigious  !  How  many  nee  —  how  many 
persons  of  the  African  blood  are  there  on  this 
vast  domain  ?  "  she  inquired,  getting  nearer 
to  her  point. 

George,  observing  how  much  she  was  im 
pressed,  eyed  her  with  rising  disdain  : 


"GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.     65 

"  Does  you  mean  niggers,  m'm  ?  'Bout 
three  thousan',  mum." 

Another  exclamation  of  astonishment  burst 
from  the  old  lady's  lips. 

"  If  you  will  permit  me  to  inquire,  Uncle 
George,  how  old  are  you  ?  " 

"  She  warn  see  if  I  kin  wuck  —  dat's  what 
she's  after,"  said  George  to  himself,  with  a 
confidential  look  at  a  young  gentleman  in  a 
hunting  dress  on  the  wall  between  two  win 
dows.  Then  he  said : 

"  Well,  I  declare,  mum,  you  got  me  dyah. 
I  ixpec'  I  is  mos  ninety  years  ole,  I  reckon  I'se 
ol'er  'n  you  is  —  I  reckon  I  is." 

"  Oh ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Jemima  with  a  little 
start  as  if  she  had  pricked  her  finger  with  a 
needle. 

"Marse  Nat  kin  tell  you,"  continued 
George ;  "  if  you  don't  know  how  ole  you  is, 
all  you  got  to  do  is  to  ax  him,  an'  he  kin  tell 
you — he  got  it  all  set  down  in  a  book  —  he 
kin  tell  how  ole  you  is  to  a  day." 

"  Dear,  how  frightful !  "  exclaimed  Miss 
Jemima,  just  as  the  Major  entered  somewhat 
hastily. 

"  He's  a  gone  coon,"  said  George  Washing 
ton  through  the  crack  of  the  door  to  the  old 


66     "GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

gentleman  in  ruffles,  as  he  pulled  the  door 
slowly  to  from  the  outside. 

The  Major  had  left  the  young  people  in  the 
dining-room  and  had  come  to  get  a  book  to 
settle  a  disputed  quotation.  He  had  found 
the  work  and  was  trying  to  read  it  without 
the  ignominy  of  putting  on  his  glasses,  when 
Miss  Jemima  accosted  him. 

"  Major,  your  valet  appears  to  be  a  very 
intelligent  person." 

The  Major  turned  upon  her. 

"  My  '  valet ' !    Madam  !   I  have  no  valet ! " 

"I  mean  your  body  servant,  your  butler"  — 
explained  Miss  Jemima.  "  I  have  been  much 
impressed  by  him." 

"  George  !  —  George  Washington  ?  -  -  you 
mean  George  Washington  !  No,  madam,  he 
has  not  a  particle  of  intelligence.  —  He  is 
grossly  and  densely  stupid.  I  have  never  in 
fifty  years  been  able  to  get  an  idea  into  his 
head." 

"  Oh,  dear !  and  I  thought  him  so  clever ! 
I  was  wondering  how  so  intelligent  a  person, 
so  well  informed,  could  be  a  slave." 

The  Major  faced  about. 

"  George  !  George  Washington  a  sla,ve  ! 
Madam,  you  misapprehend  the  situation.  He 


"GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.     67 

is  no  slave.  I  am  the  slave,  not  only  of  him 
but  of  three  hundred  more  as  arrogant  and 
exacting  as  the  Czar,  and  as  lazy  as  the  devil !  " 
Miss  Jemima  threw  up  her  hands  in  aston 
ishment,  and  the  Major,  who  was  on  a  favorite 
theme,  proceeded : 

"  Why,  madam,  the  very  coat  on  my  back 
belongs  to  that  rascal  George  Washington, 
and  I  do  not  know  when  he  may  take  a  fancy 
to  order  me  out  of  it.  My  soul  is  not  my  own. 
He  drinks  my  whiskey,  steals  my  tobacco,  and 
takes  my  clothes  before  my  face.  As  likely 
as  not  he  will  have  on  this  very  waistcoat  be 
fore  the  week  is  out." 

The  Major  stroked  his  well-filled  velvet  vest 
caressingly,  as  if  he  already  felt  the  pangs  of 
the  approaching  separation. 

"Oh,  dear!  You  amaze  me,"  began  Miss 
Jemima. 

"  Yes,  madam,  I  should  be  amazed  myself, 
except  that  I  have  stood  it  so  long.  Why,  I 
had  once  an  affair  with  an  intimate  and  val 
ued  friend,  Judge  Carrington.  You  may 
have  heard  of  him,  a  very  distinguished  man! 
and  I  was  indiscreet  enough  to  carry  that 
rascal  George  Washington  to  the  field,  think 
ing,  of  course,  that  I  ought  to  go  like  a  gen- 


68     "  GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

tleman,  and  although  the  affair  was  arranged 
after  we  had  taken  our  positions,  and  I  did 
not  have  the  pleasure  of  shooting  at  him, 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Jemima. 
"The  pleasure  of  shooting  at  your  friend! 
Monstrous ! " 

"  I  say  I  did  not  have  that  pleasure,"  cor 
rected  the  Major,  blandly;  "the  affair  was,  as 
I  stated,  arranged  without  a  shot;  yet  do  you 
know?  that  rascal  George  Washington  will 
not  allow  that  it  was  so,  and  I  understand  he 
recounts  with  the  most  harrowing  details  the 
manner  in  which  '  he  and  I,'  as  he  terms  it, 
shot  my  friend  —  murdered  him." 

Miss  Jemima  gave  an  "  Ugh.  Horrible  ! 
What  depravity  !  "  she  said,  almost  under  her 
breath. 

The  Major  caught  the  words. 

"  Yes,  madam,  it  is  horrible  to  think  of  such 
depravity.  Unquestionably  he  deserves  death ; 
but  what  can  one  do  !  The  law,  kept  feeble 
by  politicians,  does  not  permit  one  to  kill 
them,  however  worthless  they  are  (he  ob 
served  Miss  Jemima's  start,)  —  except,  of 
course,  by  way  of  example,  under  certain 
peculiar  circumstances,  as  I  have  stated  to 
you."  He  bowed  blandly. 


"  GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.     69 

Miss  Jemima  was  speechless,  so  he  pur 
sued. 

"  I  have  sometimes  been  tempted  to  make 
a  break  for  liberty,  and  have  thought  that  if 
I  could  once  get  the  rascal  on  the  field,  with 
my  old  pistols,  I  would  settle  with  him 
which  of  us  is  the  master." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  would  —  would 
shoot  him  ?  "  gasped  Miss  Jemima. 

"  Yes,  madam,  unless  he  should  be  too 
quick  for  me,"  replied  the  Major,  blandly, — 
"  or  should  order  me  from  the  field,  which  he 
probably  would  do." 

The  old  lady  turned  and  hastily  left  the 
room. 


III. 

THOUGH  Miss  Jemima  after  this  regarded 
the  Major  with  renewed  suspicion,  and  con 
fided  to  her  niece  that  she  did  not  feel  at  all 
safe  with  him,  the  old  gentleman  was  soon  on 
the  same  terms  with  Rose  that  he  was  on  with 
Margaret  herself.  He  informed  her  that  he 
was  just  twenty-five  his  "last  grass,"  and  that 
he  never  could,  would,  or  should  grow  a  year 
older.  He  notified  Jeff  and  his  friend  Mr. 


70     "  GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

Lawrence  at  the  table  that  he  regarded  him 
self  as  a  candidate  for  Miss  Endicott's  hand, 
and  had  "  staked "  the  ground,  and  he  in 
formed  her  that  as  soon  as  he  could  bring"  liim- 

o 

self  to  break  an  oath  which  he  had  made 
twenty  years  before,  never  to  address  another 
woman,  he  intended  to  propose  to  her.  Rose, 
who  had  lingered  at  the  table  a  moment  be 
hind  the  other  ladies,  assured  the  old  fellow 
that  he  need  fear  no  rival,  and  that  if  he  could 
not  muster  courage  to  propose  before  she  left, 
as  it  was  leap-year,  she  would  exercise  her 
prerogative  and  propose  herself.  The  Major, 
with  his  hand  on  his  heart  as  he  held  the  door 
open  for  her,  vowed  as  Rose  swept  past  him 
her  fine  eyes  dancing,  and  her  face  dimpling 
with  fun,  that  he  was  ready  that  moment  to 
throw  himself  at  her  feet  if  it  were  not  for 
the  difficulty  of  getting  up  from  his  knees. 

A  little  later  in  the  afternoon  Margaret  was 
down  among  the  rose-bushes,  where  Lawrence 
had  joined  her,  after  Rose  had  executed  that 
inexplicable  feminine  manoeuvre  of  denying 
herself  to  oppose  a  lover's  request. 

Jeff  was  leaning  against  a  pillar,  pretending 
to  talk  to  Rose,  but  listening  more  to  the 
snatches  of  song  in  Margaret's  rich  voice,  or 


"GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.     71 

to  the  laughter  which  floated  up  to  them  from 
the  garden  below. 

Suddenly  he  said  abruptly,  "  I  believe  that 
fellow  Lawrence  is  in  love  with  Margaret." 

Rose  insisted  on  knowing  what  ground  he 
had  for  so  peculiar  an  opinion,  on  which  he 
incontinently  charged  his  friend  with  being 
one  of  "  those  fellows  who  falls  in  love  with 
every  pretty  girl  on  whom  he  lays  his  eyes," 
and  declared  that  he  had  done  nothing  but 
hang  around  Margaret  ever  since  he  had 
come  to  the  county. 

What  Rose  might  have  replied  to  this  un 
expected  attack  on  one  whom  she  reserved 
for  her  own  especial  torture  cannot  be  re 
corded,  for  the  Major  suddenly  appeared 
around  the  verandah.  Both  the  young  people 
instinctively  straightened  up. 

"  Ah  !  you  rascals  !  I  catch  you  !  "  he 
cried,  his  face  glowing  with  jollity.  "Jeff, 
you'd  better  look  out,  —  honey  catches  a  heap 
of  flies,  and  sticks  mighty  hard.  Rose,  don't 
show  him  any  mercy,  —  kick  him,  trample  on 
him." 

"  I  am  not  honey,"  said  Rose,  with  a  capti 
vating  look  out  of  her  bright  eyes. 

"  Yes,  you  are.  If  you  are  not  you  are  the 
very  rose  from  which  it  is  distilled." 


72    "GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

"  Oh,  how  charming ! "  cried  the  young  lady. 
"  How  I  wish  some  woman  could  hear  that 
said  to  me  !  " 

"  Don't  give  him  credit  before  you  hear  all 
his  proverb,"  said  Jeff.  "  Do  you  know  what 
he  said  in  the  dining-room  ?  " 

"  Don't  credit  him  at  all,"  replied  the  Major. 
"  Don't  believe  him  —  don't  listen  to  him. 
He  is  green  with  envy  at  my  success."  And 
the  old  fellow  shook  with  amusement. 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  Please  tell  me."  She 
appealed  to  Jeff,  and  then  as  he  was  about  to 
speak,  seeing  the  Major  preparing  to  run,  she 
caught  him.  "  No,  you  have  to  listen.  Now 
tell  me,"  to  Jeff  again. 

"  Well,  he  said  honey  caught  lots  of  flies, 
and  women  lots  of  fools." 

Rose  fell  back,  and  pointing  her  tapering 
finger  at  the  Major,  who,  with  mock  humility, 
was  watching  her  closely,  declared  that  she 
would  "  never  believe  in  him  again."  The 
old  fellow  met  her  with  an  unblushing  denial 
of  ever  having  made  such  a  statement  or  held 
such  traitorous  sentiments,  as  it  was,  he  main 
tained,  a  well  established  fact  that  flies  never 
eat  honey  at  all. 

From  this  moment  the  Major  conceived  the 


"  GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.    73 

idea  that  Jeff  had  been  caught  by  his  fair  vis 
itor.  It  had  never  occurred  to  him  that  any 
one  could  aspire  to  Margaret's  hand.  He  had 
thought  at  one  time  that  Jeff  was  in  danger 
of  falling  a  victim  to  the  charms  of  the  pretty 
daughter  of  an  old  friend  and  neighbor  of 
his,  and  though  it  appeared  rather  a  pity  for 
a  young  fellow  to  fall  in  love  "  out  of  the 
State,"  yet  the  claims  of  hospitality,  com 
bined  with  the  fact  that  rivalry  with  Mr. 
Lawrence,  against  whom,  on  account  of  his 
foppishness,  he  had  conceived  some  prejudice, 
promised  a  delightful  excitement,  more  than 
counterbalanced  that  objectionable  feature. 
He  therefore  immediately  constituted  him 
self  Jeff's  ardent  champion,  and  always  spoke 
of  the  hitter's  guest  as  "  that  fellow  Law 
rence." 

Accordingly,  when,  one  afternoon,  on  his 
return  from  his  ride,  he  found  Jeff,  who  had 
ridden  over  to  tea,  lounging  around  alone,  in 
a  state  of  mind  as  miserable  as  a  man  should 
be  who,  having  come  with  the  expectation  of 
basking  in  the  sunshine  of  Beauty's  smile, 
finds  that  Beauty  is  out  horseback  riding  with 
a  rival,  he  was  impelled  to  give  him  aid, 
countenance,  and  advice.  He  immediately 


74     "GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

attacked  him,  therefore,  on  his  forlorn  and 
woebegone  expression,  and  declared  that  at 
his  age  he  would  have  long  ago  run  the  game 
to  earth,  and  have  carried  her  home  across  his 
saddle-bow. 

"  You  are  afraid,  sir  —  afraid,"  he  asserted, 
hotly.  "  I  don't  know  what  you  fellows  are 
coming  to." 

Jeff  admitted  the  accusation.  "He  feared," 
he  said,  "  that  he  could  not  get  a  girl  to  have 
him."  He  was  looking  rather  red  when  the 
Major  cut  him  short. 

"  '  Fear,'  sir !  Fear  catches  kicks,  not  kisses. 
'  Not  get  a  girl  to  have  you ! '  Well,  upon  my 
soul !  Why  don't  you  run  after  her  and 
bawl  like  a  baby  for  her  to  stop,  whilst  you 
get  down  on  your  knees  and  —  get  her  to 
have  you ! " 

Jeff  was  too  dejected  to  be  stung  even  by 
this  unexpected  attack.  He  merely  said, 
dolorously  : 

"  Well,  how  the  deuce  can  it  be  done  ?  " 

"  Make  her,  sir  —  make  her,"  cried  the  Major. 
«  Coerce  her  —  compel  her."  The  old  fellow 
was  in  his  element.  He  shook  his  grizzled 
head,  and  brought  his  hollowed  hands  together 
with  sounding  emphasis. 


"GEOEGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.     75 

Jeff  suggested  that  perhaps  she  might  be 
impregnable,  but  the  old  fellow  affirmed  that 
no  woman  was  this ;  that  no  fortress  was  too 
strong  to  be  carried ;  that  it  all  depended  on 
the  assailant  and  the  vehemence  of  the  as 
sault ;  and  if  one  did  not  succeed,  another 
would.  The  young  man  brightened.  His  men 
tor,  however,  dashed  his  rising  hopes  by  say 
ing:  "But  mark  this,  sir,  no  coward  can 
succeed.  Women  are  rank  cowards  them 
selves,  and  they  demand  courage  in  their 
conquerors.  Do  you  think  a  woman  will 
marry  a  man  who  trembles  before  her  ?  By 
Jove,  sir  !  He  must  make  her  tremble  !  " 

Jeff  admitted  dubiously  that  this  sounded 
like  wisdom.  The  Major  burst  out,  "Wis 
dom,  sir  !  It  is  the  Avisdom  of  Solomon,  who 
had  a  thousand  wives  !  " 

From  this  time  the  Major  constituted  him 
self  Jeff's  ally,  and  was  ready  to  take  the 
field  on  his  behalf  against  any  and  all  comers. 
Therefore,  when  he  came  into  the  hall  one 
day  when  Rose  was  at  the  piano,  running 
her  fingers  idly  over  the  keys,  whilst  Law 
rence  was  leaning  over  her  talking,  he  ex 
claimed  : 

"  Hello !    what    treason's    this  ?     I'll    tell 


76     "GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

Jeff.     He  was  consulting  me  only  yesterday 
about—" 

Lawrence  muttered  an  objurgation ;  but 
Rose  wheeled  around  on  the  piano-stool  and 
faced  him. 

-  "  Only  yesterday  about  the  best  mode 
of  winning  —  "  He  stopped  tantalizingly. 

"  Of  winning  what?  I  am  so  interested." 
She  rose  and  stood  just  before  him  with  a 
cajoling  air.  The  Major  shut  his  mouth 
tight. 

"  I'm  as  dumb  as  an  oyster.  Do  you  think 
I  would  betray  my  friend's  confidence  —  for 
nothing?  I'm  as  silent  as  the  oracle  of 
Delphi." 

Lawrence  looked  anxious,  and  Rose  fol 
lowed  the  old  man  closely. 

"  I'll  pay  you  anything." 

"I  demand  payment  in  coin  that  buys 
youth  from  age."  He  touched  his  lips,  and 
catching  Rose  leaned  slowly  forward  and 
kissed  her. 

"  Now,  tell  me  —  what  did  he  say  ?  A 
bargain's  a  bargain,"  she  laughed  as  Lawrence 
almost  ground  his  teeth. 

"  Well,  he  said,  — he  said,  let  me  see,  what 
did  he  say  ?  "  paltered  the  Major.  "  He  said 


l' GEOltGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.     77 

ie  could   not  get  a  girl   he   loved   to    have 
him." 

"  Oh !  did  he  say  that  ?  "  She  was  so  much 
interested  that  she  just  knew  that  Lawrence 
half  stamped  his  foot. 

"  Yes,  he  said  just  that,  and  I  told  him  —  " 

«  Well,  —  what  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  I  did  not  bargain  to  tell  what  /  told 
him.  I  received  payment  only  for  betraying 
his  confidence.  If  you  drive  a  bargain  I  will 
drive  one  also." 

Rose  declared  that  he  was  the  greatest  old 
screw  she  ever  knew,  but  she  paid  the  price, 
and  waited. 

"Well?  —  " 

"  4  Well  ?  '  Of  course,  I  told  him  « well.'  I 
gave  him  the  best  advice  a  man  ever  received. 
A  lawyer  would  have  charged  him  five  hun 
dred  dollars  for  it.  I'm  an  oracle  on  heart- 
capture." 

Rose  laughingly  declared  she  would  have 
to  consult  him  herself,  and  when  the  Major 
told  her  to  consult  only  her  mirror,  gave  him 
a  courtesy  and  wished  he  would  teach  some 
young  men  of  her  acquaintance  to  make  such 
speeches.  The  old  fellow  vowed,  however, 
that  they  were  unteachable  ;  that  he  would 
as  soon  expect  to  teach  young  moles. 


78     "GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

IV. 

IT  was  not  more  than  a  half  hour  after  this 
when  George  Washington  came  in  and  found 
the  Major  standing  before  the  long  mirror, 
turning  around  and  holding  his  coat  back 
from  his  plump  sides  so  as  to  obtain  a  fair 
view  of  his  ample  dimensions. 

"  George  Washington,"  said  he. 

"  Suh." 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  growing  a  little  too  stout." 

George  Washington  walked  around  and 
looked  at  him  with  the  critical  gaze  of  a 
butcher  appraising  a  fat  ox. 

"Oh!  nor,  suh,  you  aint,  not  to  say  too 
stout,"  he  finally  decided  as  the  result  of  this 
inspection,  "  you  jis  gittin'  sort  o'  potely.  Hit's 
monsus  becomin'  to  you." 

"Do  you  think  so?  "  The  Major  was  mani 
festly  flattered.  "  I  was  apprehensive  that  I 
might  be  growing  a  trifle  fat,"  — he  turned 
carefully  around  before  the  mirror,  —  "and 
from  a  fat  old  man  and  a  scrawny  old 
woman,  Heaven  deliver  us,  George  Wash 
ington  ! " 

"  Nor,  suh,  you  ain'  got  a  ounce  too  much 
meat  on  you,"  said  George,  reassuringly; 


"  GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.     79 

"  how  much  you  weigh,  Marse  Nat,  last  time 
you  was  on  de  stilyards  ?  "  he  inquired  with 
wily  interest. 

The  Major  faced  him. 

"  George  Washington,  the  last  time  I 
weighed  I  tipped  the  beam  at  one  hundred 
and  forty-three  pounds,  and  I  had  the  waist 
of  a  girl." 

He  laid  his  fat  hands  with  the  finger  tips 
touching  on  his  round  sides  about  where  the 
long  since  reversed  curves  of  the  lamented 
waist  once  were,  and  gazed  a£  George  with 
comical  melancholy. 

"Dat's  so,"  assented  the  latter,  with  wonted 
acquiescence.  "  I  'members  hit  well,  suh,  dat 
wuz  when  me  and  you  wuz  down  in  Glouces 
ter  tryin'  to  git  up  spunk  to  co'te  Miss  Ailsy 
Mann.  Dat's  mo'n  thirty  years  ago." 

The  Major  reflected.  "  It  cannot  be  thirty 
years  !  —  thir  —  ty  —  years,"  he  mused. 

"Yes,  suh,  an'  better,  too.  'Twuz  befo' 
we  fit  de  duil  wid  Jedge  Carrington.  I 
know  dat,  'cause  dat's  what  we  shoot  him 
'bout  —  'cause  he  co'te  Miss  Ailsy  an'  cut  we 
out." 

"  Damn  your  memory  !  Thirty  years  !  I 
could  dance  all  night  then  —  every  night  in 


80     "GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

the  week  —  and  now  I  can  hardly  mount  my 
horse  without  getting  the  thumps." 

George  Washington,  affected  by  his  remi 
niscences,  declared  that  he  had  heard  one  of 
the  ladies  saying,  "  just  the  other  day,"  what 
"  a  fine  portly  gentleman  "  he  was. 

The  Major  brightened. 

"Did  you  hear  that?  George  Washington, 
if  you  tell  me  a  lie  I'll  set  you  free !  "  It 
was  his  most  terrible  threat,  used  only  on 
occasions  of  exceptional  provocation. 

George  vowed  that  no  reward  could  in 
duce  him  to  be  guilty  of  such  an  enormity, 
and  followed  it  up  by  so  skilful  an  allusion 
to  the  progressing  youth  of  his  master  that 
the  latter  swore  he  was  right,  and  that  he 
could  dance  better  than  he  could  at  thirty, 
and  to  prove  it  executed,  with  extraordinary 
agility  for  a  man  who  rode  at  twenty  stone, 
a  pas  seul  which  made  the  floor  rock  and  set 
the  windows  and  ornaments  to  rattling  as  if 
there  had  been  an  earthquake.  Suddenly, 
with  a  loud  "Whew,"  he  flung  himself  into 
an  arm-chair,  panting  and  perspiring.  "  It's 
you,  sir,"  he  gasped  —  "you  put  me  up  to  it." 

"  Nor,  suh  ;  tain  me,  Marse  Nat  —  I's  tellin' 
you  de  truf,"  asserted  George,  moved  to  de 
fend  himself. 


"GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.     81 

"  You  infernal  old  rascal,  it  is  you,"  panted 
the  Major,  still  mopping  his  face  —  "you 
have  been  running  riot  so  long  you  need 
regulation  —  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do  —  I'll 
marry  and  give  you  a  mistress  to  manage  you 
—  yes,  sir,  I'll  get  married  right  away.  I 
know  the  very  woman  for  you  —  she'll  make 
you  walk  chalk ! ' 

For  thirty  years  this  had  been  his  threat,  so 
George  was  no  more  alarmed  than  he  was  at 
the  promise  of  being  sold,  or  turned  loose 
upon  the  world  as  a  free  man.  He  therefore 
inquired  solemnly, 

"  Marse  Nat,  le'  me  ax  you  one  thing—  you 
ain'  thinkin'  'bout  givin'  me  that  ole  one  for 
a  mistis  is  you  ?  " 

"What  old  one,  fool?"  The  Major  stopped 
panting.  George  Washington  denoted  the 
side  of  his  head  where  Miss  Jemima's  thin 
curls  nestled. 

"Get  out  of  this  room.  Tell  Dilsy  to 
pack  your  chest,  I'll  send  you  off  to-morrow 
morning." 

George  Washington  blinked  with  the  grav 
ity  of  a  terrapin.  It  might  have  been  obtuse- 
ness  ;  or  it  might  have  been  silent  but  exquisite 
enjoyment  which  lay  beneath  his  black  skin. 


82     "  GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

"George  Washington,"  said  the  Major  al 
most  in  a  whisper, "  what  made  you  think  that  ?  " 

It  was  to  George  Washington's  undying 
credit  that  not  a  gleam  flitted  across  his  ebony 
countenance  as  he  said  solemnly, 

"  Marse  Nat,  I  ain  say  I  think  nuttin  —  I 
jis  ax  you,  Is  you?  —  She  been  meckin  mighty 
partic'lar  quiration  'bout  de  plantation  and 
how  many  niggers  we  got  an'  all  an'  I  jis 
spicionate  she  got  her  eye  sort  o'  set  on 
you  an'  me,  dat's  all." 

The  Major  bounced  to  his  feet,  and  seizing 
his  hat  and  gloves  from  the  table,  burst  out 
of  the  room.  A  minute  later  he  was  shout 
ing  for  his  horse  in  a  voice  which  might  have 
been  heard  a  mile. 


V. 

JEFF  laid  to  heart  the  Major's  wisdom ;  but 
when  it  came  to  acting  upon  it  the  difficulty 
arose.  He  often  wondered  why  his  tongue 
became  tied  and  his  throat  grew  dry  when  he 
was  in  Margaret's  presence  these  days  and 
even  just  thought  of  saying  anything  serious 
to  her.  He  had  known  Margaret  ever  since 


"GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.     83 

she  was  a  wee  bit  of  a  baby,  and  had  often 
carried  her  in  his  arms  when  she  was  a  little 
girl  and  even  after  she  grew  up  to  be  "  right 
big."  He  had  thought  frequently  of  late  that 
he  would  be  willing  to  die  if  he  might  but 
take  her  in  his  arms.  It  was,  therefore,  with 
no  little  disquietude  that  he  observed  what  he 
considered  his  friend's  growing  fancy  for  her. 
By  the  time  Lawrence  had  taken  a  few  strolls 
in  the  garden  and  a  horseback  ride  or  two 
with  her  Jeff  was  satisfied  that  he  was  in  love 
with  her,  and  before  a  week  was  out  he  was 
consumed  with  jealousy.  Margaret  was  not 
the  girl  to  indulge  in  repining  on  account  of 
her  lover's  unhappiness.  If  Jeff  had  had  a 
finger-ache,  or  had  a  drop  of  sorrow  but 
fallen  in  his  cup  her  eyes  would  have  soft 
ened  and  her  face  would  have  shown  how 
fully  she  felt  with  him  ;  but  this  —  this  was 
different.  To  wring  his  heart  was  a  part  of 
the  business  of  her  young  ladyhood ;  it  was 
a  healthy  process  from  which  would  come 
greater  devotion  and  more  loyal  constancy. 
Then,  it  was  so  delightful  to  make  one  whom 
she  liked  as  she  did  Jeff  look  so  miserable. 
Perhaps  some  time  she  would  reward  him  — 
after  a  long  while,  though.  Thus,  poor  Jeff 


84     "GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

spent  many  a  wretched  hour  cursing  his  fate 
and  cursing  Pick  Lawrence.  He  thought  he 
would  create  a  diversion  by  paying  desperate 
attention  to  Margaret's  guest ;  but  it  resolved 
itself  on  the  first  opportunity  into  his  opening 
his  heart  and  confiding  all  his  woes  to  her.  In 
doing  this  he  fell  into  the  greatest  contradic 
tion,  declaring  one  moment  that  no  one  sus 
pected  that  he  was  in  love  with  Margaret, 
and  the  next  vowing  that  she  had  every  rea 
son  to  know  he  adored  her,  as  he  had  been  in 
love  with  her  all  her  life.  It  was  one  after 
noon  in  the  drawing-room.  Rose,  with  much 
sapience,  assured  him  that  no  woman  could 
have  but  one  reason  to  know  it.  Jeff  dole 
fully  inquired  what  it  was. 

Rising  and  walking  up  to  him  she  said  in 
a  mysterious  whisper,  — 

"  Tell  her." 

Jeff,  after  insisting  that  he  had  been  telling 
her  for  years,  lapsed  into  a  declaration  of 
helpless  perplexity.  "How  can  I  tell  her 
more  than  I  have  been  telling  her  all  along?" 
he  groaned.  Rose  said  she  would  show  him. 
She  seated  herself  on  the  sofa,  spread  out  her 
dress  and  placed  him  behind  her. 

"  Now,  do  as  I  tell  you  —  no,  not  so,  —  so;  — 


"GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.    85 

now  lean  over,  —  put  your  arm  —  no,  it  is  not 
necessary  to  touch  me,"  as  Jeff,  with  prompt 
apprehension,  fell  into  the  scheme,  and  de 
clared  that  he  was  all  right  in  a  rehearsal, 
and  that  it  was  only  in  the  real  drama  he 
failed.     "  Now  say  c  I  love  you.'  "     Jeff  said 
it.     They  were  in  this  attitude  when  the  door 
opened  suddenly  and  Margaret  stood  facing 
them,  her  large  eyes  opened  wider  than  ever. 
She  backed  out  and  shut  the  door. 
Jeff  sprang  up,  his  face  very  red. 
Lawyers  know  that  the  actions  of  a  man  on 
being  charged  with  a  crime  are  by  no  means 
infallible  evidence  of  his  guilt,  — but  it  is  hard 
to  satisfy  juries  of  this  fact.     If  the  juries 
were  composed  of  women  perhaps  it  would  be 
impossible. 

The  ocular  demonstration  of  a  man's  arm 
around  a  girl's  waist-  is  difficult  to  explain  on 
more  than  one  hypothesis. 

After  this  Margaret  treated  Jeff  with  a 
rigor  which  came  near  destroying  the  friend 
ship  of  a  lifetime;  and  Jeff  became  so  des 
perate  that  inside  of  a  week  he  had  had  his 
first  quarrel  with  Lawrence,  who  had  begun 
to  pay  very  devoted  attention  to  Margaret, 
and  as  that  young  man  was  in  no  mood  to 


86     "  GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

lay  balm  on  a  bruised  wound,  mischief  might 
have  been  done  had  not  the  Major  arrived 
opportunely  on  the  scene  just  as  the  quarrel 
came  to  a  white-heat.  It  was  in  the  hall  one 
morning.  There  had  been  a  quarrel.  Jeff  had 
just  demanded  satisfaction ;  Lawrence  had  just 
promised  to  afford  him  this  peculiar  happiness, 
and  they  were  both  glaring  at  each  other,  when 
the  Major  sailed  in  at  the  door,  ruddy  and 
smiling,  and  laying  his  hat  on  the  table  and 
his  riding-whip  across  it,  declared  that  before 
he  would  stand  such  a  gloomy  atmosphere  as 
that  created  by  a  man's  glowering  looks, 
when  there  was  so  much  sunshine  just  lying 
around  to  be  basked  in,  he  would  agree  to  be 
"  eternally  fried  in  his  own  fat." 

"  Why,  I  had  expected  at  least  two  affairs 
before  this,"  he  said  jovially,  as  he  pulled  off 
his  gloves,  "and  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  shan't 
have  to  court  somebody  myself  to  save  the 
honor  of  the  family." 

Jeff  with  dignity  informed  him  that  an 
affair  was  then  brewing,  and  Lawrence  inti 
mated  that  they  were  both  interested,  when 
the  Major  declared  that  he  would  "advise 
the  young  lady  to  discard  both  and  accept  a 
soberer  and  a  wiser  man."  They  announced 


"GEOE GE  WA SHIN G TON ' 8 "  LAST  D UEL.  8 7 

that  it  was  a  more  serious  affair  than  he  had 
in  mind,  and  let  fall  a  hint  of  what  had 
occurred.  The  Major  for  a  moment  looked 
gravely  from  one  to  the  other,  and  suggested 
mutual  explanations  and  retractions ;  but  when 
both  young  men  insisted  that  they  were  quite 
determined,  and  proposed  to  have  a  meeting 
at  once,  he  changed.  He  walked  over  to  the 
window  and  looked  oiit  for  a  moment.  Then 
turned  and  suddenly  offered  to  represent  both 
parties.  Jeff  averred  that  such  a  proceeding 
was  outside  of  the  Code ;  this  the  Major 
gravely  admitted ;  but  declared  that  the  affair 
even  to  this  point  appeared  not  to  have  been 
conducted  in  entire  conformity  with  that  in 
comparable  system  of  rules,  and  urged  that  as 
Mr.  Lawrence  was  a  stranger  and  as  it  was 
desirable  to  have  the  affair  conducted  with 
as  much  secrecy  and  dispatch  as  possible,  it 
might  be  well  for  them  to  meet  as  soon  as 
convenient,  and  he  would  attend  rather  as  a 
witness  than  as  a  second.  The  young  men  as 
sented  to  this,  and  the  Major,  now  thoroughly 
in  earnest,  with  much  solemnity,  offered  the 
use  of  his  pistols,  which  was  accepted. 

In  the  discussion  which  followed,  the  Major 
took  the  lead,  and  suggested  sunset  that  after- 


88     "GEORGE  WASHINGTON S"  LAST  DUEL. 

noon  as  a  suitable  time,  and  the  grass-plat 
between  the  garden  and  the  graveyard  as  a 
convenient  and  secluded  spot.  This  also  was 
agreed  to,  though  Lawrence's  face  wore  a 
soberer  expression  than  had  before  appeared 
upon  it. 

The  Major's  entire  manner  had  changed ; 
his  levity  had  suddenly  given  place  to  a 
gravity  most  unusual  to  him,  and  instead  of 
his  wonted  jollity  his  face  wore  an  expression 
of  the  greatest  seriousness.  He,  after  a  casual 
glance  at  Lawrence,  suddenly  insisted  that  it 
was  necessary  to  exchange  a  cartel,  and  open 
ing  his  secretary,  with  much  pomp  proceeded 
to  write.  "You  see  —  if  things  were  not 
regular  it  would  be  butchery,"  he  explained, 
considerately,  to  Lawrence,  who  winced 
slightly  at  the  word.  "  I  don't  want  to  see 
you  murder  each  other,"  he  went  on  in  a  slow 
comment  as  he  wrote,  "  I  wish  you,  since  you 
are  determined  to  shoot  —  each  other  —  to  do 
it  like  —  gentlemen."  He  took  a  new  sheet. 
Suddenly  he  began  to  shout,  — 

"  George  —  George  Washington."  There 
was  no  answer,  so  as  he  wrote  on  he  contin 
ued  to  shout  at  intervals,  "  George  Wash 
ington  ! " 


"  GEORGE  WA SH1NGTON ' S "  LAST  .D UEL.  89 

After  a  sufficient  period  had  elapsed  for 
a  servant  crossing  the  yard  to  call  to  another, 
who  sent  a  third  to  summon  George,  and  for 
that  functionary  to  take  a  hasty  potation  from 
a  decanter  as  he  passed  through  the  dining- 
room  at  his  usual  stately  pace,  he  appeared  at 
the  door. 

"Did  you  call,  suh?"  he  inquired,  with 
that  additional  dignity  which  bespoke  his  re 
course  to  the  sideboard  as  intelligibly  as  if  he 
had  brought  the  decanters  in  his  hand. 

"  Did  I  call ! "  cried  the  Major,  without 
looking  up.  "  Why  don't  you  come  when 
you  hear  me  ?  " 

George  Washington  steadied  himself  on  his 
feet,  and  assumed  an  aggrieved  expression. 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  can  wait  for  you  to 
drink  all  the  whiskey  in  my  sideboard  ?  Are 
you  getting  deaf-drunk  as  well  as  blind- 
drunk?"  he  asked,  still  writing  industriously. 

George  Washington  gazed  up  at  his  old 
master  in  the  picture  on  the  wall,  and  shook 
his  head  sadly. 

"  Nor,  suh,  Marse  Nat.  You  know  I  am' 
drink  none  to  git  drunk.  I  is  a  member  o'  de 
church.  I  is  full  of  de  sperit." 

The  Major,  as  he  blotted  his  paper,  assured 


90     "  GEOE GE  WA SHIN G TON ' S "  LAST  D UEL. 

him  that  he  knew  he  was  much  fuller  of  it 
than  were  his  decanters,  and  George  Wash 
ington  was  protesting  further,  when  his  mas 
ter  rose,  and  addressing  Jeff  as  the  challenger, 
began  to  read.  He  had  prepared  a  formal 
cartel,  and  all  the  subsequent  and  consequen 
tial  documents  which  appear  necessary  to  a 
well-conducted  and  duly  bloodthirsty  meet 
ing  under  the  duello,  and  he  read  them  with 
an  impressi veness  which  was  only  equalled  by 
the  portentious  dignity  of  George  Washing 
ton.  As  he  stood  balancing  himself,  and  took 
in  the  solemn  significance  of  the  matter,  his 
whole  air  changed  ;  he  raised  his  head,  struck 
a  new  attitude,  and  immediately  assumed  the 
position  of  one  whose  approval  of  the  affair 
was  of  the  utmost  moment. 

The  Major  stated  that  he  was  glad  that 
they  had  decided  to  use  the  regular  duelling 
pistols,  not  only  as  they  were  more  convenient 
—  he  having  a  very  fine,  accurate  pair  —  but 
as  they  were  smooth  bore  and  carried  a  good, 
large  ball,  which  made  a  clean,  pretty  hole, 
without  tearing.  "  Now,",  he  explained  kindly 
to  Lawrence,  uthe  ball  from  one  of  these 
infernal  rifled  concerns  goes  gyrating  and 
tearing  its  way  through  you,  and  makes  an 


"GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.     91 

orifice  like  a  posthole"  He  illustrated  his 
meaning  with  a  sweeping  spiral  motion  of  his 
clenched  fist. 

Lawrence  grew  a  shade  whiter,  and  won 
dered  how  Jeff  felt  and  looked,  whilst  Jeff 
set  his  teeth  more  firmly  as  the  Major  added 
blandly  that  "  no  gentleman  wanted  to  blow 
another  to  pieces  like  a  Sepoy  mutineer." 

George  Washington's  bow  of  exaggerated 
acquiescence  drew  the  Major's  attention  to 
him. 

"  George  Washington,  are  my  pistols 
clean  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  suh,  clean  as  yo'  shut-front,"  replied 
George  Washington,  grandly. 

"  Well,  clean  them  again." 

"  Yes,  suh,"  and  George  was  disappearing 
with  ponderous  dignity,  when  the  Major 
called  him,  "  George  Washington." 

"  Yes,  suh." 

"  Tell  carpenter  William  to  come  to  the 
porch.  His  services  may  be  needed,"  he  ex 
plained  to  Lawrence,  "  in  case  there  should 
be  a  casualty,  you  know." 

"Yes,  suh."  George  Washington  disap 
peared.  A  moment  later  he  re-opened  the 
door. 


92     "GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 


"  Marse  Nat." 

"  Sir." 

"Shall  I  send  de  overseer  to  dig  de  graves, 
suh  ?  " 

Lawrence  could  not  help  exclaiming, 

"  Good !  "  and  then  checked  himself  ; 

and  Jeff  gave  a  perceptible  start. 

"  I  will  attend  to  that,"  said  the  Major, 
and  George  Washington  went  out  with  an 
order  from  Jeff  to  take  the  box  to  the  office. 

The  Major  laid  the  notes  on  his  desk  and 
devoted  himself  to  a  brief  eulogy  on  the 
beautiful  symmetry  of  "  the  Code,"  illustrat 
ing  his  views  by  apt  references  to  a  number 
of  instances  in  which  its  absolute  impartiality 
had  been  established  by  the  instant  death  of 
both  parties.  He  had  just  suggested  that 
perhaps  the  two  young  men  might  desire  to 
make  some  final  arrangements,  when  George 
Washington  reappeared,  drunker  and  more 
imposing  than  before.  In  place  of  his  ordi 
nary  apparel  he  had  substituted  a  yellowish 
velvet  waistcoat  and  a  blue  coat  with  brass 
buttons,  both  of  which  were  several  sizes 
too  large  for  him,  as  they  had  for  several 
years  been  stretched  over  the  Major's  ample 
person.  He  carried  a  well-worn  beaver  hat 


"  GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.     93 

in  his  hand,  which  he  never  donned  except 
on  extraordinary  occasions. 

"  De  pistils  is  ready,  suh,"  he  said,  in  a 
fine  voice,  which  he  always  employed  when 
he  proposed  to  be  peculiarly  effective.  His 
self-satisfaction  was  monumental. 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  coat  and  waist 
coat  from,  sir?"  thundered  the  Major.  "Who 
told  you  you  might  have  them  ?  " 

George  Washington  was  quite  taken  aback 
at  the  unexpectedness  of  the  assault,  and  he 
shuffled  one  foot  uneasily. 

"  Well,  you  see,  suh,"  he  began,  vaguely, 
"  I  know  you  warn'  never  gwine  to  wear  'em 
no  mo',  and  seeiii'  dat  dis  was  a  very  serious 
recasion,  an'  I  wuz  rip-ripresentiri'  Marse  Jeff 
in  a  jewel,  I  thought  I  ought  to  repear  like 
a  gent'man  on  dis  recasion." 

"  You  infernal  rascal,  didn't  I  tell  you  that 
the  next  time  you  took  my  clothes  without  ask 
ing  my  permission,  I  was  going  to  shoot  you?  " 

The  Major  faced  his  chair  around  with  a 
jerk,  but  George  Washington  had  in  the  in 
terim  recovered  himself. 

"  Yes,  suh,  I  remembers  dat,"  he  said,  com 
placently,  "  but  dat  didn't  have  no  recose  to 
dese  solemn  recasions  when  I  rip-ripresents  a 
gent'man  in  de  Code." 


94     "GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

"  Yes,  sir,  it  did,  I  had  this  especially  in 
mind,"  declared  the  Major,  unblushingly — 
"  I  gave  you  fair  notice,  and  damn  me  !  if  I 
don't  do  it  too  before  I'm  done  with  you  — 
I'd  sell  you  to-morrow  morning  if  it  would 
not  be  a  cheat  on  the  man  who  was  fool 
enough  to  buy  you.  My  best  coat  and  waist 
coat  !  "  —  he  looked  affectionately  at  the  gar 
ments. 

George  Washington  evidently  knew  the 
way  to  soothe  him  — "  Who  ever  heah  de 
beat  of  dat !  "  he  said  in  a  tone  of  mild  com 
plaint,  partly  to  the  young  men  and  partly  to 
his  old  master  in  the  ruffles  and  velvet  over 
the  piano,  "  Marse  Nat,  you  reckon  I  am'  got 
no  better  manners  '11  to  teck  you  ties'  coat 
and  weskit !  Dis  heah  coat  and  weskit  nuver 
did  you  no  favor  anyways  —  I  hear  Miss 
Marg'ret  talkin'  'bout  it  de  fust  time  you 
ever  put  'em  on.  Dat's  de  reason  I  tuck 
'em."  Having  found  an  excuse  he  was  as 
voluble  as  a  river  —  "I  say  to  myself,  I  ain' 
gvvine  let  my  young  marster  wyar  dem  things 
no  mo'  roun'  heah  wid  strange  ladies  an' 
gent'man  stayin'  in  de  house  too,  —  an'  I  so 
consarned  about  it,  I  say,  c  George  Wash'n'n, 
you  got  to  git  dem  things  and  wyar  'em  yo'- 


"GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.     95 

self  to  keep  him  f  om  doin'  it,  dat's  what  you 
got  to  do,'  I  say,  and  dat's  de  reason  I  tuk 
'em."  He  looked  the  picture  of  self-sacrifice. 

But  the  Major  burst  forth  on  him:  "  Why, 
you  lying  rascal,  that's  three  different  reasons 
you  have  given  in  one  breath  for  taking 
them."  At  which  George  Washington  shook 
his  woolly  head  with  doleful  self-abnegation. 

"Just  look  at  them!"  cried  the  Major  — 
"My  favorite  waistcoat!  There  is  not  a 
crack  or  a  brack  in  them  —  They  look  as  nice 
as  they  did  the  day  they  were  bought !  " 

This  was  too  much  for  George  Washington. 
"  Dat's  the  favor,  suh,  of  de  pussen  what  has 
'em  on,"  he  said,  bowing  grandly ;  at  which 
the  Major,  finding  his  ire  giving  way  to 
amusement,  drove  him  from  the  room,  swear 
ing  that  if  he  did  not  shoot  him  that  evening 
he  would  set  him  free  to-morrow  morning. 


VI. 


As  the  afternoon  had  worn  away,  and 
whilst  the  two  principals  in  the  affair  were 
arranging  their  matters,  the  Major  had  been 
taking  every  precaution  to  carry  out  the  plan 


96     "GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

for  the  meeting.  The  effect  of  the  approach 
ing  duel  upon  the  old  gentleman  was  some 
what  remarkable.  He  was  in  unusually  high 
spirits ;  his  rosy  countenance  wore  an  expres 
sion  of  humorous  content ;  and,  from  time  to 
time  as  he  bustled  about,  a  smile  flitted  across 
his  face,  or  a  chuckle  sounded  from  the  depths 
of  his  satin  stock.  He  fell  in  with  Miss  Je 
mima,  and  related  to  her  a  series  of  anecdotes 
respecting  duelling  and  homicide  generally, 
so  lurid  in  their  character  that  she  groaned 
over  the  depravity  of  a  region  where  such 
barbarity  was  practised ;  but  when  he  sol 
emnly  informed  her  that  he  felt  satisfied  from 
the  signs  of  the  time  that  some  one  would  be 
shot  in  the  neighborhood  before  twenty-four 
hours  were  over,  the  old  lady  determined  to 
return  home  next  day. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  secure  secrecy,  as  the 
Major  had  given  directions  that  no  one  should 
be  admitted  to  the  garden. 

For  at  least  an  hour  before  sunset  he  had 
been  giving  directions  to  George  Washington 
which  that  dignitary  would  have  found  some 
difficulty  in  executing,  even  had  he  remained 
sober;  but  which,  in  his  existing  condition, 
was  as  impossible  as  for  him  to  change  \he 


"GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.     97 

kinks  in  his  hair.  The  Major  had  solemnly 
assured  him  that  if  he  got  drunk  he  would 
shoot  him  on  the  spot,  and  George  Washing 
ton  had  as  solemnly  consented  that  he  would 
gladly  die  if  he  should  be  found  in  this 
unprecedented  condition.  Immediately  suc 
ceeding  which,  however,  under  the  weight  of 
the  momentous  matters  submitted  to  him,  he 
had,  after  his  habit,  sought  aid  and  comfort 
of  his  old  friends,  the  Major's  decanters,  and 
he  was  shortly  in  that  condition  when  he  felt 
that  the  entire  universe  depended  upon  him. 
He  blacked  his  shoes  at  least  twenty  times, 
and  marched  back  and  forth  in  the  yard  with 
such  portentous  importance  that  the  servants 
instinctively  shrunk  away  from  his  august 
presence.  One  of  the  children,  in  their  frol 
ics,  ran  against  him;  George  Washington 
simply  said,  "  Git  out  iny  way,"  and  without 
pausing  in  his  gait  or  deigning  to  look  at 
him,  slapped  him  completely  over. 

A  maid  ventured  to  accost  him  jocularly  to 
know  why  he  was  so  finely  dressed.  George 
Washington  overwhelmed  her  with  a  look  of 
such  infinite  contempt  and  such  withering 
scorn  that  all  the  other  servants  forthwith 
L-ll  upon  her  for  "interferin'  in  Unc'  George 


93     "  GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

Wash'n'ton's  business."  At  last  the  Major 
entered  the  garden  and  bade  George  Wash 
ington  follow  him ;  and  George  Washington 
having  paid  his  twentieth  visit  to  the  dining- 
room,  and  had  a  final  interview  with  the 
liquor-case,  and  having  polished  up  his  old 
beaver  anew,  left  the  office  by  the  side  door, 
carrying  under  his  arm  a  mahogany  box  about 
two  feet  long  and  one  foot  wide,  partially 
covered  with  a  large  linen  cloth.  His  beaver 
hat  was  cocked  on  the  side  of  his  head,  with 
an  air  supposed  to  be  impressive.  He  wore 
the  Major's  coat  and  flowered  velvet  waist 
coat  respecting  which  he  had  won  so  signal 
a  victory  in  the  morning,  and  he  flaunted  a 
large  bandanna  handkerchief,  the  ownership  of 
which  he  had  transferred  still  more  recently. 
The  Major's  orders  to  George  Washington 
were  to  convey  the  box  to  the  garden  in  a 
secret  manner,  but  George  Washington  was 
far  too  much  impressed  with  the  importance 
of  the  part  he  bore  in  the  affair  to  lose  the 
opportunity  of  impressing  the  other  servants. 
Instead,  therefore,  of  taking  a  by-path,  he 
marched  ostentatiously  through  the  yard  with 
a  manner  which  effected  his  object,  if  not  his 
master's,  and  which  struck  the  entire  circle 


"GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.     99 

of  servants  with  inexpressible  awe.  How 
ever,  after  he  gained  the  garden  and  reached 
a  spot  where  he  was  no  longer  in  danger  of 
being  observed  by  any  one,  he  adopted  a  man 
ner  of  the  greatest  secrecy,  and  proceeded  to 
the  place  selected  for  the  meeting  with  a  de 
gree  of  caution  which  could  not  have  been 
greater  had  he  been  covertly  stealing  his  way 
through  a  band  of  hostile  Indians.  The  spot 
chosen  for  the  meeting  was  a  grass  plot 
bounded  on  three  sides  by  shrubbery  and  on 
the  fourth  by  the  wall  of  the  little  square 
within  which  had  been  laid  to  rest  the  mortal 
remains  of  some  half  dozen  generations  of  the 
Burwells.  Though  the  grass  was  green  and 
the  sky  above  was  of  the  deep  steely  hue 
which  the  late  afternoon  brings  ;  yet  the  thick 
shrubbery  which  secluded  the  place  gave  it 
an  air  of  wildness,  and  the  tops  of  the  tall 
rrtonuments  gleaming  white  over  the  old  wall 
against  the  dark  cedars,  added  an  impression 
of  ghostliness  which  had  long  caused  the 
locality  to  be  generally  avoided  by  the 
negroes  from  the  time  that  the  afternoon 
shadows  began  to  lengthen. 

George  Washington,  indeed,  as  he  made  his 
way  stealthily  down  towards  the  rendezvous 


100  "GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

glanced  behind  him  once  or  twice  as  if  he 
were  not  at  all  certain  that  some  impalpable 
pursuer  were  not  following  him,  and  he 
almost  jumped  out  of  his  shoes  when  the 
Major,  who  had  for  ten  minutes  been  pacing 
up  and  down  the  grass-plat  in  a  fume  of  im 
patience,  caught  sight  of  him  and  suddenly 
shouted,  "  Why  don't  you  come  on,  you  — 
rascal?" 

As  soon  as  George  Washington  recognized 
that  the  voice  was  not  supernatural,  he  recov 
ered  his  courage  and  at  once  disarmed  the 
Major,  who,  watch  in  hand,  was  demanding  if 
he  supposed  he  had  nothing  else  to  do  than 
to  wait  for  him  all  night,  by  falling  into  his 
vein  and  acquiescing  in  all  that  he  said  in 
abuse  of  the  yet  absent  duellists,  or  at  least 
of  one  of  them. 

He  spoke  in  terms  of  the  severest  reproba 
tion  of  Mr.  Lawrence,  declaring  that  he  had 
never  had  a  high  opinion  of  his  courage,  or, 
indeed,  of  any  quality  which  he  possessed. 
He  was,  perhaps,  not  quite  prepared  to  join 
in  an  attack  on  Jeff,  of  whose  frequent  bene 
factions  he  entertained  a  lively  recollection 
amounting  to  gratitude,  at  least  in  the  ac 
cepted  French  idea  of  that  virtue,  and  as  he 


"  GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.  101 

had  constituted  himself  Jeff's  especial  repre 
sentative  for  this  "  solemn  recasion,"  he  felt 
a  personal  interest  in  defending  him  to  some 
extent. 

At  last  the  Major  ordered  him  to  take  out 
the  weapons  and  some  little  time  was  spent 
in  handling  them,  George  Washington  exam 
ining  them  with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur. 
The  Major  asserted  that  he  had  never  seen  a 
prettier  spot,  and  George  Washington,  imme 
diately  striking  an  attitude,  echoed  the  senti 
ment.  He  was,  indeed,  so  transported  with 
its  beauty  that  he  declared  it  reminded  him  of 
the  duel  he  and  the  Major  fought  with  Judge 
Carrington,  which  he  positively  declared,  was 
"  a  jewel  like  you  been  read  about,"  and  he 
ended  with  the  emphatic  assertion,  "  Ef  dese 
gent'mens  jes  plump  each  urr  like  we  did  de 

Judge  dat  evelin  ! "  A  wave  of  the  hand 

completed  the  period. 

The  Major  turned  on  him  with  a  positive 
denial  that  he  had  ever  even  shot  at  the 
Judge,  but  George  Washington  unblushingly 
insisted  that  they  had,  and  in  fact  had  shot 
him  twice.  "We  hit  him  fyah  an'  squar'." 
He  levelled  a  pistol  at  a  tree  a  few  yards  dis 
tant,  and  striking  an  attitude,  squinted  along 


102  "GEOKGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST 


the  barrel  with  the  air  of  an  old  hand  at  the 
weapon. 

The  Major  reiterated  his  statement  and 
recalled  the  fact  that,  as  he  had  told  him  and 
others  a  thousand  times,  they  had  shaken 
hands  on  the  spot,  which  George  Washington 
with  easy  adaptability  admitted,  but  claimed 
that  "  ef  he  hadn't  Vshook  hands  we'd  Vshot 
him,  sho  !  Dis  here  gen+'man  am'  gwine  git 
off  quite  so  easy,"  he  declared,  having  already 
decided  that  Lawrence  was  to  experience  the 
deadly  accuracy  of  his  and  Jeff's  aim.  He 
ended  with  an  unexpected  "  Hie  !  "  and  gave  a 
littL  lurch,  .,hhh  betraj^ed  his  condition,  but 
immediately  gathered  himself  together  again. 

The  M  jor  locked  at  him  quizzically  as  he 
stood  pistols  in  hand  in  all  the  grandeur  of 
his  assumed  character.  The  shadow  of  disap 
pointment  at  the  non-appearance  of  the  Juel- 
lists  which  had  rested  on  his  round  face,  passed 
away,  and  he  suddenly  asked  him  which  way 
he  thought  they  had  better  stand.  George 
Washington  twisted  his  head  on  one  side  and, 
after  striking  a  deliberative  attitude  and  look 
ing  the  plat  well  over,  gave  his  judgment. 

"Ah  —  so,"  said  the  Major,  and  bade  him 
step  off  ten  paces. 


"  GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.  103 

George  Washington  cocked  his  hat  consid- 

o  o 

erably  more  to  the  side,  and  with  a  wave  of 
his  hand,  caught  from  the  Major,  took  ten 
little  mincing  steps ;  and  without  turning, 
glanced  back  over  his  shoulder  and  inquired, 
"  Am'  dat  mighty  fur  apart  ?  " 

The  Major  stated  4iat  it  was  necessary  to 
give  them  some  chance.  And  this  appeared 
to  satisfy  him,  for  he  admitted,  "  Yas,  suh, 
dat's  so,  dee  'bleeged  to  have  a  chance,"  and 
immediately  marked  a  point  a  yard  or  more 
short  of  that  to  which  he  had  stepped. 

The  Major  then  announced  that  he  would 
load  the  pistols  without  waiting  for  the  ad 
vent  of  the  other  gentlemen,  as  he  "repre 
sented  both  of  them." 

This  was  too  much  for  so  accomplished  an 
adept  at  the  Code  as  George  Washington, 
and  he  immediately  asserted  that  such  a 
thing  was  preposterous,  asking  with  some 
scorn,  as  he  strutted  up  and  down,  "  Who 
ever  heah  o'  one  gent'man  ripresentin'  two 
in  a  jewel,  Marse  Nat  ?  " 

The  Major  bowed  politely.  "  I  was  afraid 
it  was  a  little  incompatible,"  he  said. 

"  Of  cose  it's  incomfatible,"  said  George 
Washington.  "  I  ripresents  one  and  you  de 


104  "GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

t'urr.  Dat's  de  way  !  I  ripresents  Marse  Jeff. 
I  know  he  ain'  gwine  fly  de  track.  I  done 
know  him  from  a  little  lad.  Dat  urr  gent'man 
I  ain'  know  nuttin  tall  about.  You  ripresents 
him."  He  waved  his  hand  in  scorn. 

"Ah!"  said  the  Major,  as  he  set  labori 
ously  about  loading  the  pistols,  handling  the 
balls  somewhat  ostentatiously. 

George  Washington  asserted,  "  I  b'lieve  I 
know  mo'  'bout  the  Code  'n  you  does,  Marse 
Nat." 

The  Major  looked  at  him  quizzically  as  he 
rammed  the  ball  down  hard.  He  was  so  skil 
ful  that  George  at  length  added  condescend 
ingly,  "  But  I  see  you  ain'  forgit  how  to  handle 
dese  things." 

The  Major  modestly  admitted,  as  he  put 
on  a  cap,  that  he  used  to  be  a  pretty  fair  shot, 
and  George  Washington  in  an  attitude  as 
declarative  of  his  pride  in  the  occasion  as  his 
inebriated  state  admitted,  was  looking  on 
with  an  expression  of  supreme  complacency, 
when  the  Major  levelled  the  weapon  and 
sighted  along  its  barrel.  George  Washing 
ton  gave  a  jump  which  sent  his  cherished 
beaver  bouncing  twenty  feet. 

u  Look  out,  Marse  Nat !  Don'  handle  dat 
thing  so  keeiiess,  please,  suh." 


•'GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.  105 

The  Major  explained  that  he  was  just  try 
ing  its  weight,  and  declared  that  it  "  came  up 
beautifully;"  to  which  George  Washington 
after  he  had  regained  his  damaged  helmet 
assented  with  a  somewhat  unsteady  voice. 
The  Major  looked  at  his  watch  and  up  at  the 
trees,  the  tops  of  which  were  still  brightened 
with  the  reflection  from  the  sunset  sky,  and 
muttered  an  objurgation  at  the  failure  of  the 
principals  to  appear,  vowing  that  he  never 
before  knew  of  a  similar  case,  and  that  at 
least  he  had  not  expected  Jeff  to  fail  to  come 
to  time.  George  Washington  again  proudly 
announced  that  he  represented  Jeff  and  that 
it  was  "  that  urr  gent'man  what  had  done  fly 
de  track,  that  urr  gent'man  what  you  ripre- 
sents,  Marse  Nat."  He  spoke  with  unveiled 
contempt. 

The  Major  suddenly  turned  on  him. 

"  George  Washington  !  " 

"Suh!"     He  faced  him. 

"If  my  principal  fails  to  appear,  I  must 
take  his  place.  The  rule  is,  the  second  takes 
the  place  of  his  non-appearing  principal." 

"In  cose  dat's  de  rule,"  declared  George 
Washington  as  if  it  were  his  own  suggestion ; 
"  de  secon'  tecks  de  place  o'  de  non-repearin' 


106  "GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

sprinciple,  and  dat's  what  mecks  me  say  what 
I  does,  dat  man  is  done  run  away,  suh,  dat's 
what's  de  motter  wid  him.  He's  jes'  nat- 
chelly  skeered.  He  couldn'  face  dem  things, 
suh."  He  nodded  towards  the  pistols,  his 
thumbs  stuck  in  the  armholes  of  his  flowered 
velvet  vest.  As  the  Major  bowed  George 
Washington  continued  with  a  hiccough,  "He 
ain'  like  we  gent'mens  whar's  ust  to  'em  an' 
don'  mine  'em  no  mo'  'n  pop-crackers." 

"  George  Washington,"  said  the  Major,  sol 
emnly,  with  his  eyes  set  on  George  Washing 
ton's  velvet  waistcoat,  "take  your  choice  of 
these  pistols." 

The  old  duellist  made  his  choice  with  due 
deliberation.  The  Major  indicated  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand  one  of  the  spots  which 
George  had  marked  for  the  expected  duel 
lists.  "  Take  your  stand  there,  sir."  George 
Washington  marched  grandly  up  and  planted 
himself  with  overwhelming  dignity,  whilst 
the  Major,  with  the  other  pistol  in  his  hand, 
quietly  took  his  stand  at  the  other  position, 
facing  him. 

"  George,"  he  said,  "  George  Washington." 

"  Suh."  George  Washington  was  never  so 
imposing. 


"GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.  107 

u  My  principal,  Mr.  Pickering  Lawrence, 
having  failed  to  appear  at  the  designated 
time  and  place  to  meet  his  engagement  with 
Mr.  Jefferson  Lewis,  I,  as  his  second  and  rep 
resentative,  offer  myself  to  take  his  place  and 
assume  any  and  all  of  his  obligations." 

George  Washington  bowed  grandly. 

"  Yes,  suh,  of  cose,  —  dat  is  accordin'  to  de 
Code,"  he  said  with  solemnity  befitting  the 
occasion. 

The  Major  proceeded. 

"  And  your  principal,  Mr.  Jefferson  Lewis, 
having  likewise  failed  to  appear  at  the  proper 
time,  you  take  his  place." 

"  Suh,"  ejaculated  George  Washington,  in 
sudden  astonishment,  turning  his  head  slightly 
as  if  he  were  not  certain  he  had  heard  correctly, 
"  Marse  Nat,  jis  say  dat  agin,  please,  suh  ?  " 

The  Major  elevated  his  voice  and  advanced 
his  pistol  slightly. 

"  I  say,  your  principal,  Mr  Jefferson  Lewis, 
having  in  like  manner  failed  to  put  in  his  ap 
pearance  at  the  time  and  place  agreed  on  for 
the  meeting,  you  as  his  representative  take 
his  place  and  assume  'all  his  obligations." 

"  Oh !  nor,  suh,  I  don't !  "  exclaimed  George 
Washington,  shaking  his  head  so  violent1 


1Q8"GEOKGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

that  the  demoralized  beaver  fell  off  again  and 
rolled  around  unheeded.  "I  am'  bargain  for 
no  sich  thing  as  dat.  Nor,  suh  !  " 

But  the  Major  was  obdurate. 

"  Yes,  sir,  you  do.  When  you  accept  the 
position  of  second,  you  assume  all  the  obliga 
tions  attaching  to  that  position,  and "  the 

Major  advanced  his  pistol  —  "I  shall  shoot  at 
you." 

George  Washington  took  a  step  towards 
him.  "  Oh  !  goodness  !  Marse  Nat,  you  ain' 
gwine  do  nuttin  like  dat,  is  you  !  "  His  jaw 
had  fallen,  and  when  the  Major  bowed  with 
deep  solemnity  and  replied,  "Yes,  sir,  and  you 
can  shoot  at  me,"  he  burst  out.  • 

"  Marse  Nat,  I  don'  warn'  shoot  at  you. 
What  I  warn'  shoot  at  you  for  ?  I  ain'  got 
nuttin  'ginst  you  on  de  fatal  nth.  You  been 

good  master  to  me  all  my  days  an' "  The 

Major  cut  short  this  sincere  tribute  to  his  vir 
tues,  by  saying:  " Very  well,  you  can  shoot 
or  not  as  you  please.  I  shall  aim  at  that 
waistcoat."  He  raised  his  pistol  and  par 
tially  closed  one  eye.  George  Washington 
dropped  on  his  knees. 

"  Oh,  Marse  Nat,  please,  suh.  What  you 
want  to  shoot  me  for?  Po'  ole  good-for- 


"GEOEGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL    109 

nuttin  George  Washington,  whar  ain'  nuver 
done  you  no  harm  "  (the  Major's  eye  glanced 
over  his  blue  coat  and  flowered  vest ;  George 
saw  it),  "  but  jes  steal  you'  whiskey  an'  you' 
clo'es  an'  —  Marse  Nat,  ef  you  le'  me  off  dis 
time  I  oon  nuver  steal  no  mo'  o'  you'  clo'es, 
er  you'  whiskey,  er  nuttin.  Marse  Nat,  you 
wouldn'  shoot  po'  ole  good-for-nuttin  George 
Washington,  whar  fotch'  up  wid  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,  I  would,"  declared  the  Major, 
sternly.  "  I  am  going  to  give  the  word,  and 

—  "  he  raised  the  pistol  once  more. 
George  Washington  began  to  creep  toward 

him.  "  Oh,  Lordy !  Marse  Nat,  please,  suh, 
don'  pint  dat  thing  at  me  dat  away  —  hit's 
loaded!  Oh,  Lordy!"  he  shouted.  The 
Major  brandished  his  weapon  fiercely. 

"Stand  up,  sir,  and  stop  that  noise  —  one 

—  two  —  three,"    he    counted,    but    George 
Washington  was  flat  on  the  ground. 

"  Oh,  Marse  Nat,  please,  suh,  don't.  I'se 
feared  o'  dem  things."  A  sudden  idea  struck 
him.  "Marse  Nat,  you  is  about  to  loss  a 
mighty  valuable  nigger,"  he  pleaded  ;  but  the 
Major  simply  shouted  to  him  to  stand  up  and 
not  disgrace  the  gentleman  he  represented. 
George  Washington  seized  on  the  word ;  it 
was  his  firfal  hope. 


110  "GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

"  Marse  Nat,  I  don't  ripresent  nobody,  suh, 
nobody  at  all,  suh.  I  ain'  iiuttin  but  a  good- 
for-nuttin,  wuthless  nigger,  whar  brung  de 
box  down  heah  cuz  you  tole  me  to,  suh,  dat's 
all.  An'  I'll  teck  off  you'  coat  an'  weskit  dis 
minit  ef  you'll  jis  le'  me  git  up  off  de  groun', 
suh."  Jeff  suddenly  appeared.  George  lay 
spraddled  out  on  the  ground  as  flat  as  a  field 
lark,  but  at  Jeff's  appearance,  he  sprang  be 
hind  him.  Jeff,  in  amazement,  was  inquiring 
the  meaning  of  all  the  noise  he  had  heard, 
when  Lawrence  appeared  on  the  scene.  The 
Major  explained  briefly. 

"  It  was  that  redoubtable  champion  bellow 
ing.  As  our  principals  failed  to  appear  on 
time,  he  being  an  upholder  of  the  Code,  sug 
gested  that  we  were  bound  to  take  the  places 
respectively  of  those  we  represented " 

"  Nor,  suh,  I  don'  ripresent  nobody,"  inter 
rupted  George  Washington ;  but  at  a  look 
from  the  Major  he  dodged  again  behind  Jeff. 
The  Major,  with  his  eye  on  Lawrence,  said*: 

"  Well,  gentlemen,  let's  to  business.  We 
have  but  a  few  minutes  of  daylight  left,  I 
presume  you  are  ready  ?  " 

Both  gentlemen  bowed,  and  the  Major  pro 
ceeded  to  explain  that  he  had  loaded  both 


"GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.  Ill 

pistols  himself  with  precisely  similar  charges, 
and  that  they  were  identical  in  trigger,  sight, 
drift,  and  weight,  and  had  been  tested  on  a 
number  of  occasions,  when  they  had  proved 
to  be  "  excellent  weapons  and  remarkably  ac 
curate  in  their  fire."  The  young  men  bowed 
silently ;  but  when  he  turned  suddenly  and 
called  "  George  Washington,"  that  individual 
nearly  jumped  out  of  his  coat.  The  Major 
ordered  him  to  measure  ten  paces,  which, 
after  first  giving  notice  'that  he  "  didn't  ripre- 
sent  nobody,"  he  proceeded  to  do,  taking  a 
dozen  or  more  gigantic  strides,  and  hastily 
retired  again  behind  the  safe  bulwark  of  Jeff's 
back.  As  he  stood  there  in  his  shrunken  con 
dition,  he  about  as  much  resembled  the  pom 
pous  and  arrogant  duellist  of  a  half-hour 
previous  as  a  wet  and  bedraggled  turkey  does 
the  strutting,  gobbling  cock  of  the  flock. 
The  Major,  with  an  objurgation  at  him  for 
stepping  "as  if  he  had  on  seven  league  boots," 
stepped  off  the  distance  himself,  explaining 
to  Lawrence  that  ten  paces  was  about  the 
best  distance,  as  it  was  sufficiently  distant  to 
"avoid  the  unpleasantness  of  letting  a  gentle 
man  feel  that  he  was  within  touching  dis 
tance,"  and  yet  "  near  enough  to  avoid 
useless  mutilation." 


112  "GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

Taking  out  a  coin,  lie  announced  that  he 
would  toss  up  for  the  choice  of  position,  or 
rather  would  make  a  "  disinterested  person  " 
do  so,  and,  holding  out  his  hand,  he  called 
George  Washington  to  toss  it  up.  There  was 
no  response  until  the  Major  shouted,  "  George 
Washington,  where  are  you  —  you  rascal!" 

"  Heah  me,  suh,"  said  George  Washington, 
in  a  quavering  voice,  rising  from  the  ground, 
where  he  had  thrown  himself  to  avoid  any 
stray  bullets,  and  coming  slowly  forward, 
with  a  pitiful,  "  Please,  suh,  don'  p'int  dat 
thing  dis  away." 

The  Major  gave  him  the  coin,  with  an  order 
to  toss  it  up,  in  a  tone  so  sharp  that  it  made 
him  jump  ;  and  he  began  to  turn  it  over  ner 
vously  in  his  hand,  which  was  raised  a  little 
above  his  shoulder.  In  his  manipulation  it 
slipped  out  of  his  hand  and  disappeared. 
George  Washington  in  a  dazed  way  looked 
in  his  hand,  and  then  on  the  ground.  "  Hi ! 
whar'  hit  ?  "  he  muttered,  getting  down  on 
his  knees  and  searching  in  the  grass.  "  Dis 
heah  place  is  evil-sperited." 

The  Major  called  to  him  to  hurry  up,  but 
lie  was  too  intent  on  solving  the  problem  of 
the  mysterious  disappearance  of  the  quarter. 


"GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.  113 

"  I  aiii'  nuver  like  dis  graveyard  bein'  right 
heah,"  he  murmured.  "  Marse  Nat,  don'  you 
have  no  mo'  to  do  wid  dis  thing." 

The  Major's  patience  was  giving  out. 
"  George  Washington,  you  rascal  !  "  he 
shouted,  "  do  you  think  I  can  wait  all  night 
for  you  to  pull  up  all  the  grass  in  the  garden? 
Take  the  quarter  out  of  your  pocket,  sir  ! 

"  'Tain'  in  my  pocket,  suh,' '  quavered 
George  Washington,  feeling  there  instinc 
tively,  however,  when  the  coin  slipped  down 
his  sleeve  into  his  hand  again.  This  was  too 
much  for  him.  "  Hi !  befo'  de  king,"  he  ex 
claimed,  "how  it  git  in  my  pocket?  Oh, 
Marster !  de  devil  is  'bout  heah,  sho' !  Marse 
Nat,  you  fling  it  up,  suh.  I  ain'  nuttin  but  a 
po'  sinful  nigger.  Oh,  Lorcly !  "  And  hand 
ing  over  the  quarter  tremulously,  George 
Washington  flung  himself  flat  on  the  ground 
and,  as  a  sort  of  religious  incantation,  began 
to  chant  in  a  wild,  quavering  tone  the  fu 
neral  hymn : 

"  Hark  1  from  the  tombs  a  doleful  sound." 

The  Major  tossed  up  and  posted  the  duel 
lists,  and  with  much  solemnity  handed  them 
the  pistols,  which  both  the  two  young  men 


114  "GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

received  quietly.  They  were  pale,  but  per 
fectly  steady.  The  Major  then  asked  them, 
"  Gentlemen,  are  you  ready  ?  "  whilst  at  the 
omnious  sound  George  Washington's  voice  in 
tremulous  falsetto,  struck  in, 

"  Ye-ee — so-ons  off  meenn  co-otne  view-ew  the-ee  groan', 
Wher-ere  you-ou  in— uss'  shor-ort-ly  lie." 

They  announced  themselves  ready  just  as 
George  Washington,  looking  up  from  the 
ground,  where  he,  like  the  "  so-ons  off  meenn," 
was  lying,  discovered  that  he  was  not  more 
than  thirty  yards  out  of  the  line  of  aim,  and 
with  a  muttered  "  Lordy ! "  began  to  crawl 
away. 

There  was  a  confused  murmur  from  the 
direction  of  the  path  which  led  to  the  house, 
and  the  Major  shouted,  "  Fire  —  one  —  two 
—  three." 

Both  young  men,  facing  each  other  and  look 
ing  steadily  in  each  other's  eyes,  with  simul 
taneous  action  fired  their  pistols  into  the  air. 

At  the  report  a  series  of  shrieks  rang  out 
from  the  shrubbery  towards  the  house,  whilst 
George  Washington  gave  a  wild  yell  and 
began  to  kick  like  a  wounded  bull,  bellowing 
that  he  was  "  killed  —  killed." 


"GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.  115 

The  Major  had  just  walked  up  to  the  duel 
lists,  and,  relieving  them  of  their  weapons, 
had  with  a  comprehensive  wave  of  the  hand 
congratulated  them  on  their  courage  and 
urged  them  to  shake  hands,  which  they  were 
in  \he  act  of  doing,  when  the  shrubbery 
parted  and  Margaret,  followed  closely  by 
Rose  and  by  Miss  Jemima  panting  behind, 
rushed  in  upon  them,  crying  at  the  tops  of 
their  voices,  "  Stop  !  Stop  !  " 

The  two  young  ladies  addressed  themselves 
respectively  to  Jeff  and  Lawrence,  and  both 
were  employing  all  their  eloquence  when  Miss 
Jemima  appeared.  Her  eye  caught  the  pros 
trate  form  of  George  Washington,  who  lay 
flat  on  his  face  kicking  and  groaning  at  inter 
vals.  She  pounced  upon  the  Major  with  so 
much  vehemence  that  he  was  almost  carried 
away  by  the  sudden  onset. 

"  Oh !  You  wretch !  What  have  you 
done  ? "  she  panted,  scarcely  able  to  articu 
late. 

"Done,  madam?  "  asked  the  Major,  gravely. 

"  Yes ;  what  have  you  done  to  that  poor 
miserable  creature  —  there  !  "  She  actually 
seized  the  Major  and  whirled  him  around 
with  one  hand,  whilst  with  the  other  she 


116  "GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL. 

pointed  at  the  prostrate  and  now  motionless 
George  Washington. 

"  What  have  I  been  doing  with  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  with  him.  Have  you  been  carrying 
out  your  barbarous  rite  on  his  inoffensive 
person  !  "  she  gasped. 

The  Major's  eye  lit  up. 

"  Yes,  madam,"  he  said,  taking  up  one  of 
the  pistols,  "  and  I  rejoice  that  you  are  here 
to  witness  its  successful  termination.  George 
Washington  has  been  selected  as  the  victim 
this  year;  his  monstrous  lies,  his  habitual 
drunken  worthlessness,  his  roguery,  culminat 
ing  in  the  open  theft  to-day  of  my  best  coat 
and  waistcoat,  marked  him  naturally  as  the 
proper  sacrifice.  I  had  not  the  heart  to  cheat 
any  one  by  selling  him  to  him.  I  was  there 
fore  constrained  to  shoot  him.  He  was,  with 
his  usual  triflingness,  not  killed  at  the  first 
fire,  although  he  appears  to  be  dead.  I  will 
now  finish  him  by  putting  a  ball  into  his 
back  ;  observe  the  shot."  He  advanced,  and 
cocking  the  pistol,  "  click  —  click,"  stuck  it 
carefully  in  the  middle  of  George  Washing 
ton's  fat  back.  Miss  Jemima  gave  a  piercing 
shriek  and  flung  herself  on  the  Major  to  seize 
the  pistol;  but  she  might  have  spared  herself; 


"GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S"  LAST  DUEL.  Ill 

for  George  Washington  suddenly  bounded 
from  the  ground  and,  with  one  glance  at  the 
levelled  weapon,  rushed  crashing  through 
the  shrubbery,  followed  by  the  laughter  of 
the  young  people,  the  shrieks  of  Miss  Je 
mima,  and  the  shouts  of  the  Major  for  him 
to  come  back  and  let  him  kill  him. 

That  evening,  when  Margaret,  seated  on 
the  Major's  knee,  was  rummaging  in  his  vest 
pockets  for  any  loose  change  which  might  be 
there  (which  by  immemorial  custom  belonged 
to  her),  she  suddenly  pulled  out  two  large, 
round  bullets.  The  Major  seized  them  ;  but 
it  was  too  late.  When,  however,  he  finally 
obtained  possession  of  them  he  presented 
them  to  Miss  Jemima,  and  solemnly  requested 
her  to  preserve  them  as  mementoes  of  George 
Washington's  miraculous  escape. 


P'LASKI'S  TUNAMENT. 


I  HAD  the  good  fortune  to  come  from  "  the 
old  county  of  Hanover,"  as  that  particular 
division  of  the  State  of  Virginia  is  affection 
ately  called  by  nearly  all  who  are  so  luck}^  as 
to  have  first  seen  the  light  amid  its  broom- 
straw  fields  and  heavy  forests;  and  to  this 
happy  circumstance  I  owed  the  honor  of  a 
special  visit  from  one  of  its  most  loyal  citi 
zens.  Indeed,  the  glories  of  his  native  county 
were  so  embalmed  in  his  memory  and  were 
so  generously  and  continuously  imparted  to 
all  his  acquaintances,  that  he  was  in  the 
county  of  his  adoption  universally  known 
after  an  absence  of  forty  years  as  "  Old  Han 
over."  I  had  not  been  long  in  F when 

I  was  informed  that  I  might,  in  right  of 
the  good  fortune  respecting  my  birthplace, 
to  which  I  have  referred,  expect  a  visit  from 
my  distinguished  fellow-countyman,  and  thus 
I  was  not  surprised,  when  one  afternoon  a 
message  was  brought  in  that  "  Ole  Hanover 
118 


P'LASKVS   TUNAMENT.  119 

was  in  the  yard,  and  had  called  to  pay  his 
bes'  bespecks  to  de  gent'man  what  hed  de 
honor  to  come  f'om  de  ole  county." 

I  immediately  went  out,  followed  by  my 
host,  to  find  that  the  visit  was  attended  with 
a  formality  which  raised  it  almost  to  the 
dignity  of  a  ceremonial.  "  Old  Hanover  " 
was  accompanied  by  his  wife,  and  was  at 
tended  by  quite  a  number  of  other  negroes, 
who  had  followed  him  either  out  of  curiosity 
excited  by  the  importance  he  had  attached  to 
the  visit,  or  else  in  the  desire  to  shine  in 
reflected  glory  as  his  friends.  "  Old  Han 
over  "  himself  stood  well  out  in  front  of  the 
rest,  like  an  old  African  chief  in  state  with 
his  followers  behind  him  about  to  receive  an 
embassy.  He  was  arrayed  with  great  care, 
in  a  style  which  I  thought  at  first  glance  was 
indicative  of  the  clerical  calling,  but  which  I 
soon  discovered  was  intended  to  be  merely 
symbolical  of  approximation  to  the  dignity 
which  was  supposed  to  pertain  to  that  profes 
sion.  He  wore  a  very  long  and  baggy  coat 
which  had  once  been  black,  but  was  now 
tanned  by  exposure  to  a  reddish  brown,  a 
vest  which  looked  as  if  it  had  been  velvet 
before  the  years  had  eaten  the  nap  from  it, 


120  P'LASKl'S   TUNAMENT. 

and  changed  it  into  a  fabric  not  unlike 
leather.  His  shirt  was  obviously  newly 
washed  for  the  occasion,  and  his  high  clean 
collar  fell  over  an  ample  and  somewhat  bulg 
ing  white  cloth,  which  partook  of  the  quali 
ties  of  both  stock  and  necktie.  His  skin  was 
of  that  lustrous  black  which  shines  as  if 
freshly  oiled,  and  his  face  was  closely  shaved 
except  for  two  tufts  of  short,  white  hair,  one 
on  each  side,  which  shone  like  snow  against 
his  black  cheeks.  He  wore  an  old  and  very 
quaint  beaver,  and  a  pair  of  large,  old-fash 
ioned,  silver-rimmed  spectacles,  which  gave 
him  an  air  of  portentous  dignity. 

When  I  first  caught  sight  of  him,  he  was 
leaning  on  a  long  hickory  stick,  which  might 
have  been  his  staff  of  state,  and  his  face  was 
set  in  an  expression  of  superlative  importance. 
As  I  appeared,  however,  he  at  once  removed 
his  hat,  and  taking  a  long  step  forward,  made 
me  a  profound  bow.  I  was  so  much  im 
pressed  by  him,  that  I  failed  to  catch  the 
whole  of  the  grandiloquent  speech  with 
which  he  greeted  me.  I  had  evidently  se 
cured  his  approval;  for  he  boldly  declared 
that  he  "  would  'a'  recognizated  me  for  one  of 
de  rail  quality  ef  he  had  foun'  me  in  a  cup- 


P^LASKVS    TUNAMENT.  121 

pen."  I  was  immediately  conscious  of  the 
effect  which  his  endorsement  produced  on  his 
companions.  They  regarded  me  with  new 
interest,  if  any  expression  so  bovine  deserved 
to  be  thus  characterized. 

"  I  tell  dese  folks  up  heah  dee  don't  know 
mi  thin'  'bout  rail  quality,"  he  asserted  with 
a  contemptuous  wave  of  his  arm,  which  was 
manifestly  intended  to  embrace  the  entire 
section  in  its  comprehensive  sweep.  "Dee 
'ain'  nuver  had  no  'quaintance  wid  it,"  he 
explained,  condescendingly.  His  friends  ac 
cepted  this  criticism  with  proper  submissive- 
ness. 

"  De  Maconses,  de  Berkeleyses,  de  Carterses, 
de  Bassettses,  de  Wickhamses,  de  Nelsonses, 
an'  dem !  "  -  (the  final  ending  "  es  "  was 
plainly  supposed  to  give  additional  dignity) 
—  "  now  dee  is  sho  'nough  quality.  I  know 
all  'bout  'em."  He  paused  long  enough  to 
permit  this  to  sink  in. 

"I  b'longst  to  Doc1  Macon.  You  know 
what  he  wuz  ?  " 

His  emphasis  compelled  me  to  acknowledge 
his  exalted  position  or  abandon  forever  all 
hope  of  retaining  my  own  ;  so  I  immediately  as 
sented,  and  inquired  how  long  he  had  been  in 


122  P'LASKVS   TUNAMENT. 

"  this  country,"  as  he  designated  his  adopted 
region.  He  turned  with  some  severity  to  one 
of  his  companions,  a  stout  and  slatternly 
woman,  very  black,  and  many  years  his  junior. 

"  How  long  is  I  been  heah,  Lucindy  ?  " 

The  woman  addressed,  by  way  of  answer, 
turned  half  away,  and  gave  a  little  nervous 
laugh.  "I  don't  know  how  long  you  been 
heah,  you  been  heah  so  long;  mos'  forty 
years,  I  reckon."  This  sally  called  from  her 
companions  a  little  ripple  of  amusement. 

"  Dat's  my  wife,  suh,"  the  old  gentleman 
explained,  apologetically.  "  She's  de  one  I 
got  now ;  she  come  f 'om  up  heah  in  dis  ken- 
try."  His  voice  expressed  all  that  the  words 
were  intended  to  convey.  Lucindy,  who 
appeared  accustomed  to  such  contemptuous 
reference,  merely  gave  another  little  explo 
sion  which  shook  her  fat  shoulders. 

As,  however,  I  was  expected  to  endorse  all 
his  views,  I  changed  the  embarrassing  subject 
by  inquiring  how  he  had  happened  to  leave 
the  old  county. 

"  Ole  marster  gi'  me  to  Miss  Fanny  when 
she  ma'yed  Marse  William  Fitzhugh,"  he 
explained.  "I  wuz  ma'yed  den  to  Marth' 
Ann ;  she  wuz  Miss  Fanny's  maid,  an'  when 


P'LASKPS    TUNAMENT.  123 

she  come  up  heah  wid  Miss  Fanny,  I  recom- 
pany  her."  He  would  not  admit  that  his 
removal  was  a  permanent  one.  "  I  al'ays 
layin'  out  to  go  back  home,  but  I  'aiii'  been 
yit.  Dee's  mos'  all  daid  b'fo'  dis,  suh?  " 

He  spoke  as  if  this  were  a  fact,  but  there 
was  a  faint  inquiry  in  his  eyes  if  not  in  his 
tone.  I  was  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  inform 
him  differently,  and,  to  change  the  subject,  I 
started  to  ask  him  a  question.  "Martha 
Ann  -  "  I  began,  and  then  paused  irresolute. 

"  She's  daid  too,"  he  said  simply. 

"  How  many  children  have  you  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  'am'  got  but  beah  one  now,  suh,  ef  I  got 
dat  one,"  he  replied ;  "  dat's  P'laski." 

"  How  many  have  you  had  ?  " 

"  Well,  suh,  dat's  a  partic'lar  thing  to  tell," 
he  said,  with  a  whimsical  look  on  his  face. 
"  De  Scripturs  says  you  is  to  multiply  an' 
replanish  de  uth  ;  but  I  s'pecks  I's  had  some 
several  mo'n  my  relowance ;  dar's  Jeems,  an' 
Peter,  an'  Jeremiah,  an'  Hezekiah,  an'  Zekyel, 
Ananias  an'  Malachi,  Matthew  an'  Saint  Luke, 
besides  de  gals.  Dee's  all  gone  ;  an'  now  I 
'ain'  got  but  jes  dat  P'laski.  He's  de  wuth- 
lisses  one  o'  de  whole  gang.  He  tecks  after 
his  mammy." 


124  P'LASKFS   TUN  AMEN  T. 

The  reference  to  Pulaski  appeared  to  occa 
sion  some  amusement  among  his  friends,  and 
I  innocently  inquired  if  he  was  Martha  Ann's 
son. 

"  Nor,  suli,  dat  he  warn'  !  "  was  the  vehe 
ment  and  indignant  answer.  "  Ef  he  had  'a' 
been,  he  nuver  would  'a'  got  me  into  all  dat 
trouble.  Dat  wuz  de  mortification  o'  my 
life,  suh.  He  got  all  dat  meanness  f'om  his 
mammy.  Dat  ooman  dyah  is  his  mammy." 
He  indicated  the  plump  Lucindy  with  his 
long  stick,  which  he  poked  at  her  contemptu 
ously.  "  Dat's  what  I  git  for  mar'yin'  one  o' 
dese  heah  up-kentry  niggers  !  "  The  "  up- 
kentry"  spouse  was  apparently  quite  accus 
tomed  to  this  characterization,  for  she  simply 
looked  away,  rather  in  embarrassment  at  my 
gaze  being  directed  to  her  than  under  any 
stronger  emotion.  Her  liege  continued: 
"  Lucindy  warn'  quality  like  me  an'  Marth' 
Ann,  an'  her  son  tooken  after  her.  What's 
in  de  myah  will  come  out  in  de  colt ;  an'  he 
is  de  meanes'  chile  I  uver  had.  I  name  de 
urrs  f'om  de  Scriptur',  but  he  come  o'  a  diff'- 
ent  stock,  an'  I  name  him  arter  Mr.  P'laski 
Greener,  whar  Lucindy  use'  to  b'longst  to, 
.an'  I  reckon  maybe  dat's  de  reason  he  so 


P'LASKrS    TUNAMENT.  125 

natchally  evil.  I  liad  mo'  trouble  by  recount 
o'  dat  boy  'n  I  lied  when  I  los'  Marth'  Ann." 

The  old  fellow  threw  back  his  head  and 
gave  a  loud  "  Whew !  "  actually  removing  his 
large  spectacles  in  his  desperation  at  Pulaski's 
wickedness.  Again  there  was  a  suppressed 
chuckle  from  his  friends ;  so,  seeing  that 
some  mystery  attached  to  the  matter,  I  put  a 
question  which  started  him. 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you,  sub,"  he  began.  "  Hit 
all  growed  out  of  a  tunament,  sub.  You  an' 
I  knows  all  discerning  tunaments,  'cuz  we 
come  f'om  de  ole  county  o'  Hanover,  whar 
de  raise  tunaments  "  —  (he  referred  to  them 
as  if  they  had  been  a  species  of  vegetables) 
—  "  but  we  'ain'  nuver  hearn  de  modification 
of  a  niyger  ridin'  in  a  tunament?" 

I  admitted  this,  and,  after  first  laying  his 
hat  carefully  on  the  ground,  he  proceeded : 

"Well,  you  know,  sub,  dat  P'laski  got  de 
notionment  in  he  haid  dat  he  wuz  to  ride  in 
a  tunament.  He  got  dat  f'om  dat  ooman." 
He  turned  and  pointed  a  trembling  finger  at 
his  uncomplaining  spouse ;  and  then  slowly 
declared,  "Lord!  I  wuz  outdone  dat  day." 

I  suggested  that  possibly  he  had  not  fol 
lowed  Solomon's  injunction  as  rigidly  as 


126  P'LASKrS   TUNAMENT. 

Pulaski's  peculiar  traits  of  character  had 
demanded ;  but  he  said  promptly : 

"  Yes,  suh,  I  did.  I  whupped  him  faith 
ful;  but  he  took  whuppin'  like  a  ole  steer. 
Hickory  didn'  'pear  to  have  no  'feck  on  him. 
He  didn'  had  no  memory;  he  like  a  ole  steer: 
got  a  thick  skin  an'  a  short  memory ;  he  wuz 
what  I  call  one  o'  dese  disorde'ly  boys." 

He  paused  long  enough  to  permit  this 
term,  taken  from  the  police  court  reports,  to 
make  a  lodgement,  and  then  proceeded : 

"  He  wuz  so  wuthless  at  home,  I  hired  him 
out  to  ole  Mis'  Twine  for  fo'  dollars  an'  a 
half  a  mont'  —  an'  more'n  he  wuth,  too  !  —  to 
see  ef  po'  white  ooman  kin  git  any  wuck  out'n 
him.  A  po'  white  ooman  kin  git  wuck  out  a 
nigger  ef  anybody  kin,  an'  'twuz  down  dyah 
that  he  got  had  foolishness  lodgicated  in  he 
haid.  You  see,  ole  Mis'  Twine  warn'  so  fur 
f'om  Wash'n'n.  Nigger  think  ef  he  kin  git 
to  Wash'n'n,  he  done  got  in  heaven.  Well, 
I  hire  him  to  ole  Mis'  Twine,  'cuz  I  think 
she'll  keep  P'laski  straight,  an'  ef  I  don'  git 
but  one  fo'  dollars  an'  a  half  f'om  him,  hit's 
dat  much;  but  'pear  like  he  got  to  runnin' 
an'  consortin'  wid  some  o'  dem  urr  free-issue 
niggers  roun'  dyah,  an'  dee  larne  him  mo' 


KVa    TUNAMENT.  127 

foolishness'n  I  think  dee  able;    'cuz   a   full 
hawg  cyarn  drink  no  mo'." 

The  old  fellow  launched  out  into  diatribes 
against  the  "  free  issues,"  who,  he  declared, 
expected  to  be  "  better  than  white  folks,  like 
white  folks  ain'  been  free  sense  de  wull  be 
gin."  He,  however,  shortly  returned  to  his 
theme. 

"  Well,  fust  thing  I  knowed,  one  Sunday  I 
wuz  settin'  down  in  my  house,  an'  heah  come 
P'laski  all  done  fixed  up  wid  a  high  collar 
on,  mos'  high  as  ole  master's,  an'  wid  a  bet 
ter  breeches  on  'n  I  uver  wear  in  my  life,  an' 
wid  a  creevat!  an'  a  cane!  an'  wid  a  seegar! 
He  comes  in  de  do'  an'  hoi'  he  seegar  in  he 
han',  sort  o'  so  "  (illustrating),  "an'  he  teck 
off  he  hat  kine  o'  flourishy  4  whurr,'  an'  say, 
4  Good  mornin',  pa  an'  ma.'  He  mammy  — 
dat  she  —  monsus  pleaged  wid  dem  manners  ; 
she  ain'  know  no  better;  but  I  ain'  nuver 
like  nobody  to  gobble  roun'  me,  an'  I  say, 
4  Look  heah,  boy,  don'  fool  wid  me  ;  I  ain' 
feelin'  well  to-day,  an'  ef  you  fool  wid  me, 
when  I  git  done  wid  you,  you  oon  feel  well 
you'self.'  Den  he  kine  o'  let  he  feathers 
down ;  an'  presney  he-  say  he  warn  me  to  len' 
him  three  dollars  an'  a  half.  I  ax  him  what 


128  P'LASKrS    TUNAMENT. 

he  warn  do  wid  it,  'cuz  I  know  I  ain'  gwine 
len'  to  him  —  jes  well  len'  money  to  a  mus'- 
rat  hole; — an'  he  say  he  warn  it  for  a  tuna- 
ment.  4Hi!'  I  say,  'P'laski,  what  air  a  tuna- 
ment?'  I  mecked  out,  you  see,  like  I  ain' 
recognizated  what  he  meek  correspondence 
to ;  an'  he  start  to  say,  '  A  tunament,  pa  — 
but  I  retch  for  a  barrel  hoop  whar  lay  in'  by 
kine  o'  amiable  like,  an'  he  stop,  like  young 
mule  whar  see  mud-puddle  in  de  road,  an' 
say,  c  A  tunament  —  a  tunament  is  whar  you 
gits  'pon  a  hoss  wid  a  pole,  an'  rides  hard  as 
you  kin,  an'  pokes  de  pole  at  a  ring,  an'  - 
When  he  gets  right  dyah,  I  interrupt  him, 
an'  I  say,  ^P'laski,'  says  I,  '  I's  raised  wid 
de  fust  o'  folks,  'cuz  I's  raised  wid  de  Ma- 
conses  at  Doc'  Macon's  in  Hanover,  an'  I's 
spectated  fish  fries,  an'  festibals,  an'  bobby- 
cues  ;  but  I  ain'  nuver  witness  nuttin'  like 
dat  —  a  nigger  ridin'  'pon  a  hoss  hard  as  he 
kin  stave,  an'  nominatin'  of  it  a  tunament,'  I 
says.  c  You's  talkin'  'bout  a  hoss-race,'  I  says, 
4  'cuz  dat's  de  on'yes'  thing,'  I  says,  ;  a  nigger 
rides  in.'  You  know,  sub,"  he  broke  in  sud 
denly,  "you  and  I's  seen  many  a  hoss-race, 
'cuz  we  come  f'om  hoss  kentry,  right  down 
dyah  f'om  whar  Marse  Torm  Doswell  live, 


P'LASKVS    TUNAMENT.  129 

an'  we  done  see  hoss-races  whar  wuz  boss- 
races  sho  'nough,  at  the  ole  FyarfieP  race- 
co'se,  whar  bosses  used  to  run  could  beat 
buds  flyin'  an'  so  I  tole  him.  I  tole  him  I 
nuver  lieah  nobody  but  a  po'  white  folks' 
nio-o-er  call  a  boss-race  a  tunament;  an'  I  tole 

t?  t) 

him  I  reckon  de  pole  he  talkin'  'bout  wuz  de 
hick'ry  dee  used  to  tune  de  boys'  backs  wid 
recasionally  Avhen  dee  didn'  ride  right.  Dat 
cut  him  down  might'ly,  'cuz  dat  ermine  him 
o'  de  hick' ries  I  done  wyah  out  'pon  him ;  but 
he  say, '  Nor,  'tis  a  long  pole  whar  you  punch 
th'oo  a  ring,  an'  de  one  whar  punch  de  inoes, 
he  crown  de  queen.'  I  tole  him  dat  de  on'yes' 
queen  I  uver  heah  'bout  wuz  a  cow  ole  master 
had,  whar  teck  de  fust  prize  at  de  State 
fyah  in  Richmond  one  year;  but  he  presist  dat 
this  wuz  a  tunament  queen,  and  he  warn  three 
dollars  an'  a  half  to  get  him  a  new  shut  an' 
to  pay  he  part  ov  de  supper.  Den  I  tole  him 
ef  he  think  I  gwine  give  him  three  dollars  an' 
a  half  for  dat  foolishness  he  mus'  think  I  big 
a  fool  as  he  wuz.  Wid  dat  he  begin  to  act 
kine  o'  aggervated,  which  I  teck  for  impi- 
dence,  'cuz  I  nuver  could  abeah  chillern  ner 
women  to  be  sullen  roun'  me ;  an'  I  gi'  him 
de  notification  dat  ef  I  cotch  him  foolin'  wid 


130  P'LASKrs   TUNAMENT. 

any  tunament  T  gwine  ride  him  tell  he  oon 
know  wherr  he  ain't  a  mule  hisself;  an'  I 
gwine  have  hick'ry  pole  dyah  too.  Den  I  tolt 
him  he  better  go  'long  back  to  ole  Mis'  Twine, 
whar  I  done  hive  him  to;  an'  when  he  see 
me  pick  up  de  barrel  hoop  an'  start  to  roll  up 
my  sleeve,  he  went ;  an'  I  heah  he  jine  dat 
Jim  Sinkfiel',  an'  dat's  what  git  me  into  all 
dat  tribilation." 

"What  got  3-011  in?"  I  inquired,  in  some 
doubt  as  to  his  meaning. 

"  Dat  tunament,  suli.  Plaski  rid  it !  An' 
what's  mo,'  suh,  he  won  de  queen,  —  one  o' 
ole  man  Bob  Sibley's  impident  gals,  —  an' 
when  he  come  to  crown  her,  he  crown  her 
wid  ole  Mis'  Twine's  weddin'-ring ! " 

There  was  a  subdued  murmur  of  amuse 
ment  in  the  group  behind  him,  and  I  could 
not  but  inquire  how  he  came  to  perform  so 
extraordinary  a  ceremony. 

"Dat  I  don'  know,  suh;  but  so  'twair. 
Fust  information  I  had  on  it  wuz  when  I  went 
down  to  ole  Mis'  Twine's  to  get  he  mont's 
weges.  I  received  de  ontelligence  on  de  way 
dat  he  had  done  lef  dyah,  an'  dat  ole  Mis' 
Twine  gol'  ring  had  lef  by  de  same  road  at 
de  same  time.  Dat  correspondence  mortify  me 


P'LASKI'S    TUNAMENT.  131 

might'ly'  cuz  I  hadn'  raised  P'laski  no  sich  a 
ways  as  dat.  He  was  dat  ooman's  son  to  be 
sho'  an'  I  knowed  he  wuz  wuthless,  but  still  I 
hadn'  respect  him  to  steal  ole  Mis'  Twine  wed- 
din'-ring,  whar  she  wyah  on  her  finger  ev'y 
day,  an'  whar  wuz  gol'  too.  I  want  de  infi- 
mation  'bout  de  fo'  dollars  an'  a  half,  so  I 
went  'long ;  but  soon  as  ole  Mis'  Twine  see 
me  she  began  to  quoil.  I  tell  her  I  just 
come  to  git  de  reasonment  o'  de  matter,  an'  I 
'ain'  got  nuthin'  'tall"  to  say  'bout  P'laski. 
Dat  jes  like  bresh  on  fire ;  she  wuss'n  befo'. 
She  so  savigrous  I  tolt  her  I  'ain'  nuver  had 
nobody  to  prevaricate  nuttin'  'bout  me ;  dat 
I  b'longst  to  Doc'  Macon,  o'  Hanover,  an'  I 
ax  her  ef  she  knowed  de  Maconses.  She  say, 
nor,  she  'ain'  know  'em,  nor  she  ain'  nuver 
hearn  on  'em,  an'  she  wished  she  hadn'  nuver 
hearn  on  me  an'  my  thievin'  boy  —  dat's 
P'laski.  Well,  tell  then,  I  mighty  consarned 
'bout  P'laski;  but  when  she  said  she  'ain' 
nuver  hearn  on  the  Maconses,  I  ain'  alto 
gether  b'lieve  P'laski  done  teck  her  ring, 
cause  I  ain'  know  whether  she  got  any  ring ; 
though  I  know  sence  the  tunament  he  mean 
enough  for  anything;  an'  I  tolt  her  so,  an'  I 
tolt  her  I  wuz  raised  wid  quality  —  sence  she 


132  P'LASKrS   TUNAMENT. 

am'  know  the  Mac  crises,  I  ain'  tole  her  no 
mo'  'bout  dem,  'cuz  de  Bible  say  you  is  not  to 
cast  pearls  befo'  hawgs  —  an'  tint  I  had  tote 
de  corn-house  keys  many  a  time,  an'  Marth' 
Ann  used  to  go  in  ole  Mistis'  trunks  same  as 
ole  Mistis  herself.  Right  dyah  she  mought  'a' 
cotch  me  ef  she  had  knowed  that  P'laski 
warn'  Marth' Ann's  son;  but  she  ain'  know 
de  Maconses,  an'  in  cose  she  ain'  'quainted 
wid  de  servants,  so  she  don'  know  it.  Well, 
suh,  she  rar  an'  she  pitch.  Yo'  nuver  heah 
a  ooman  talk  so  befo'  in  yo'  life;  an'  fust 
thing  I  knew  she  gone  in  de  house,  she  say 
she  gwine  git  a  gun  an'  run  me  off  dat  Ian'. 
But  I  ain'  wait  for  dat :  don  nobody  have  to 
git  gun  to  run  me  off  dee  Ian'.  I  jes  teck 
my  foot  in  my  han'  an'  come  'long  way  by 
myself,  'cuz  I  think  maybe  a  ooman  'at  could 
cuss  like  a  man  mout  shoot  like  a  man  too." 

"  Where  did  you  go  and  what  did  you  do 
next?"  I  asked  the  old  fellow  as  he  paused 
with  a  whimsical  little  nod  of  satisfaction  at 
his  wisdom. 

"  I  went  home,  suh,"  he  said.  "  I  heah  on  cle 
way  dat  P'laski  had  sho  'nough  done  crown t 
Bob  Sibly's  gal,  Lizzy  Susan,  wid  de  ring,  an' 
dat  he  wuz  gwine  to  Wash'n'n,  but  wuz  done 


P'LASKrS    TUNAMENT.  133 

come  home  to  git  some  things  b'fo'  he  went ; 
so  I  come  straight  'long  behinst  him  jes  swif 
as  my  foot  could  teck  me.  I  didn'  was'e 
much  time,"  he  said,  with  some  pride,  "  'cuz 
lie  had  done  mighty  nigh  come  gittin'  me 
shot.  I  jes  stop  long  'nough  to  cut  me  a 
bunch  o'  right  keen  hick'ries,  an'  I  jes  come 
'long  shakin'  my  foot.  When  I  got  to  my 
house  I  ain'  fine  nobody  dyah  but  Lucindy  — 
dat  ve'y  oo'man  dyah"  —pointing  his  long 
stick  at  her  —  "  an'  I  lay  my  hick'ries  on  de 
bed,  an'  ax  her  is  she  see  P'laski.  Fust  she 
meek  out  dat  she  ain'  heah  me,  she  so  indus- 
chus ;  I  nuver  see  her  so  induschus ;  but 
when  I  meek  'quiration  agin  she  bleeged 
to  answer  me,  an'  she  'spoil'  dat  she  'ain' 
see  him;  'cuz  she  see  dat  my  blood  wuz 
up,  an'  she  know  dee  wuz  trouble  'pen din'  for 
P'laski.  Dat  worry  me  might'ly,  an'  I  say, 
4  Lucindy,  ef  you  is  done  meek  dat  boy  resent 
hisself  f'om  heah,  you  is  done  act  like  a  po' 
white  folks'  nigger,'  I  say,  '  an'  you's  got  to 
beah  de  depravity  o'  his  transgression.'  When 
I  tolt  her  dat  she  nuver  got  mad,  'cuz  she 
know  she  air  riot  quality  like  me  an'  Marth' 
Ann;  but  she  'pear  right  smartly  disturbed, 
an'  she  'clar'  she  ain'  lay  her  eyes  on  P'laski. 


134  P'LASKrs   TUN AMEN T. 

She  done  'clar'  so  partic'lar  I  mos'  inclin'  to 
b'lieve  her;  but  all  on  a  suddent  I  heah  some 
'n'  sneeze, 4  Quechew ! '  De  soun'  come  f  om 
onder  de  bed,  an'  I  jes  retch  over  an'  gether 
in  my  bunch  o'  hick'ries,  an'  I  say,  ^Come 
out ! '  Lucindy  say,  '  Dat's  a  cat ' ;  an'  I  say, 
4  Yes,'  I  say,  '  hit's  a  cat  I  gwine  skin,  too.' 

"I  jes  stoop  down,  an'  peep  onder  de  bed, 
an',  sho  'nough,  dyah  wuz  P'laski  squinch  up 
onder  dyah,  cane  an'  seegar  an'  all,  jes  like  a 
ole  hyah  in  a  trap.  I  ketch  him  by  de  leg,  an' 
juck  him  out,  an'  —  don' you  know,  suh,  dat 
ooman  had  done  put  my  shut  on  dat  boy,  an' 
wuz  gettin'  ready  to  precipitate  him  in  flight! 
I  tolt  her  it  wuz  p'intedly  oudacious  for  her 
an'  her  son,  after  he  had  done  stolt  ole  Mis' 
Taine  weddin'-ring,  to  come  to  my  own 
house  an'  rob  me  jes  like  I  wuz  a  hen-roos' ! " 

"What  reply  did  she  make  to  that?"  I 
asked,  to  facilitate  his  narrative. 

"  She  'ain'  possessed  no  reply  to  dat  indict 
ment,"  he  said,  pompously.  "She  glad  by 
dat  time  to  remit  me  to  terminate  my  ex 
citement  on  P'laski,  an'  so  I  did.  He  hollered 
tell  dee  say  you  could  heah  him  two  miles ; 
he  fyahly  lumbered."  The  old  fellow  gave  a 
chuckle  of  satisfaction  at  the  reminiscence* 


P'LASKrS    TUNAMENT.  135 

and  began  to  draw  figures  in  the  sand  with  his 
long  stick.  Suddenly,  however,  he  looked  up. 
"  Ef  I  had  a-intimated  how  much  tribilation 
dat  lumberin'  wuz  gwine  to  get  me  in,  he 
nuver  would  'a'  hollered.  Dat  come  o'  dat 
chicken-stealin'  nigger  Jem  Sinkfiel' ;  he 
cyahed  him  off." 

He  again  became  reflective,  so  I  asked, 
"  Haven't  you  seen  him  since  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  suh,  I  seen  him  since,"  he  an 
swered.  "I  seen  him  after  I  come  out  o' 
jail ;  but  'twuz  a  right  close  thing.  I  thought 
I  wuz  gone." 

"  Gone  !  for  whipping  him  ?  " 

"  Nor,  suh  ;  'bout  de  murder." 

«  Murder  ?  " 

"  Yes,  suh  ;  murder  o'  him  —  o'  P'laski." 

"  But  you  did  not  murder  him  ?  " 

"Nor,  suh;  an'  dat  wuz  whar  de  trouble 
presisted.  Ef  I  had  a-murdered  him  I'd  'a' 
knowed  whar  he  wuz  when  dee  wanted  him  ; 
but,  as  'twair,  when  de  time  arrove,  I  wair 
unable  to  porduce  him :  and  I  come  mighty 
nigh  forfeitin'  my  life." 

My  exclamation  of  astonishment  manifestly 
pleased  him,  and  he  proceeded  with  increased 
gravity  and  carefulness  of  dictation : 


136  P'LASKrS    TUNAMENT. 

"  You  see,  suh,  'twair  dis  way."  He  laid 
his  stick  carefully  down,  and  spreading  open 
the  yellowish  palm  of  one  hand,  laid  the  in 
dex  finger  of  the  other  on  it,  as  if  it  had  been 
a  map.  "  When  I  waked  up  nex'  mornin'  an' 
called  P'laski,  he  did  not  rappear.  He  had 
departured  ;  an'  so  had  my  shut !  Ef  't  hadn' 
been  for  de  garment,  I  wouldn'  'a'  keered  so 
much,  for  I  knowed  I'd  git  my  ban's  on  him 
some  time  :  hawgs  mos'ly  comes  up  when  de 
acorns  all  gone !  an'  I  know  hick'ries  ain't 
gwine  stop  growin' :  but  I  wuz  cawnsiderably 
tossified  decernin'  my  garment,  an'  I  gin 
Lucindy  a  little  direction  'bout  dat.  But  I 
jes  went  on  gittin'  my  sumac,  an'  whenever 
I  come  'cross  a  right  straight  hick'ry,  I  geth- 
ered  dat  too,  an'  laid  it  by,  'cus  hick'ries  grow 
mighty  fine  in  ole  ficl's  whar  growin'  up  like. 
An'  one  day  I  wuz  down  in  de  bushes,  an' 
Mr.  'Lias  Lumpkins,  de  constable,  come  rid- 
in'  down  dyah  whar  I  wuz,  an'  ax  me  whar 
P'laski  is.  Hit  come  in  my  mind  torectly 
dat  he  warn'  P'laski  'bout  de  ring,  an'  I  tell 
him  I  air  not  aware  whar  P'laski  is :  and  den 
he  tell  me  he  got  warrant  for  me,  and  I  mus' 
come  on  wid  him.  I  still  reposed,  in  co'se, 
'twuz  'bout  de  ring,  an'  I  say  I  ain'  had  nut- 


P'LASKPS    TUN  AMEN  T.  137 

'tin'  to  do  wid  it.  An'  he  say,  c  Wid  what?' 
An'  I  say,  4  Wid  de  ring.'  Den.  he  say, 
4  Oh!'  an'  he  say,  ''Tain'  nuttin'  'bout  de 
ring ;  'tis  for  murder.'  Well,  I  know  I  ain' 
murder  nobody,  an'  I  ax  him  who  dee  say 
I  done  murder ;  an'  he  ax  me  agin,  4  Whar 
air  P'laski  ? '  I  tell  him  I  don'  know  whar 
P'laski  air :  I  know  I  ain'  murder  him  !  Well, 
suh,  hit  subsequently  repeared  dat  dis  wuz 
de  wuss  thing  I  could  'a'  said,  'cus  when 
de  trial  come  on,  Major  Torm  Woods  made 
mo'  o'  dat  '11  anything  else  at  all;  an'  hit 
'pears  like  ef  you's  skused  o'  murder  er  steal- 
in',  you  mus'n'  say  you  ain'  do  it,  'cuz  dat's 
dangersomer  'n  allowing  you  is  do  it. 

"  Well,  I  went  'long  wid  him.  I  ax  him  to 
le'  me  go  by  my  house ;  but  he  say,  nor,  he 
'ain'  got  time,  dat  he  done  been  dyah.  An'  he 
teck  me  'long  to  de  cote-house,  an'  lock  me  up 
in  de  jail !  an'  lef  me  dyah  in  de  dark  on 
de  rock  flo' !  An'  dyah  I  rejourned  all  night 
long.  An'  I  might  'a'  been  dyah  now,  ef  't 
hadn'  been  dat  de  co'te  come  on.  Nex'  morn- 
in'  Mr.  Landy  Wilde  come  in  dyah  an'  ax  me 
how  I  gettin'  on,  an'  ef  I  warn'  anything.  I 
tell  him  I  gettin'  on  tolerable,  an'  I  ain'  warn' 
nuttin'  but  a  little  tobacco.  I  warn'  git  out, 


138  P'LASEFS   TUNAMENT. 

but  I  knew  I  cyarn  do  dat,  'cuz  'twuz  de  am- 
bitiouses  smellin'  place  I  ever  smelt  in  my 
life.  I  tell  you,  suh,  I  is  done  smell  all  de 
smells  o'  mink  an'  mus'  an'  puffume,  but  I 
am'  nuver  smell  nuttin'  like  dat  jail.  Mr. 
Landy  Wilde  had  to  hole  he  nose  while  he 
in  dyah ;  an'  he  say  he'll  git  de  ole  jedge  to 
come  an'  ac'  as  my  council.  I  tell  him, '  Nor; 
Gord  put  me  in  dyah,  an'  I  reckon  He'll  git 
me  out  when  He  ready.'  I  tell  you,  suh,  I 
wair  p'intedly  ashamed  for  de  ole  jedge,  whar 
wuz  a  gent'man,  to  come  in  sich  a  scand'lous 
smellin'  place  as  dat.  But  de  ole  jedge  come  ; 
an'  he  say  it  wuz  a  —  —  shame  to  put  a  hu- 
min  in  sich  place,  an'  he'd  git  me  bail ;  which 
I  mus'  say  —  even  ef  he  is  a  church  member 
—  might  be  ixcused  ef  you  jes  consider  dat 
smell,  But  when  de  cote  meet,  dee  wouldn' 
gi'  me  no  bail,  'cuz  dee  say  I  done  commit 
murder ;  an'  I  heah  Jim  Sinkfiel'  an'  Mr. 
Lumpkins  an'  ole  Mis'  Twine  went  in  an' 
tole  de  gran'  jury  I  sutney  had  murder  P'laski, 
an'  bury  him  down  in  de  sumac  bushes  ;  an' 
dee  had  de  gre't  bundle  o'  switches  dee  fine 
in  my  house,  an'  dee  redite  me,  an'  say  ef  I 
'ain'  murder  him,  why 'n't  I  go  'long  an'  pro 
duce  him.  Dat's  a  curisome  thing,  suh  ;  dee 


P'LASKl'S    TUNAMENT.  139 

tell  you  to  go  'long  and  fine  anybody,  an'  den 
lock  you  up  in  jail  a  insec'  couldn'  get  out." 

I  agreed  with  him  as  to  the  apparent  in 
consistency  of  this,  and  he  proceeded: 

"  Well,  suh,  at  las'  de  trial  come  on ;  'twuz 
April  cote,  an'  dee  had  me  in  the  cote-house, 
an'  set  me  down  in  de  cheer,  wid  de  jury  right 
in  front  o'  me,  an'  de  jedge  settin'  up  in  he  pul 
pit,  lookin'  mighty  aggrevated.  Dat  wuz  de 
fus'  time  I  'gin  to  feel  maybe  I  wuz  sort  o' 
forgittin'  things,  I  had  done  been  thinkin'  so 
much  lately  in  jail  'bout  de  ole  doctor  —  dat's 
ole  master  —  an'  Marth'  Ann,  an'  all  de  ole 
times  in  Hanover,  I  wuz  sort  o'  misty  as  I 
wuz  settin'  dyah  in  de  cheer,  an'  I  jes  heah 
sort  o'  buzzin'  roun'  me,  an'  I  warn'  alto 
gether  certified  dat  I  warn'  back  in  ole  Han 
over.  Den  I  heah  'em  say  dat  de  ole  jedge 
wuz  tooken  down  an'  wuz  ixpected  to  die,  an' 
dee  ax  me  don'  I  want  a  continuance.  I  don' 
know  what  dat  mean,  'sep  dee  say  I  have  to 
go  back  to  jail,  an'  sense  I  smell  de  fresh  air  I 
don'  warn'  do  dat  no  mo' ;  so  I  tell  'em,  'Nor; 
I  ready  to  die.'  An'  den  dee  made  me  stan' 
up  ;  an'  dee  read  dat  long  paper  to  me  'bout 
how  I  done  murder  P'laski ;  dee  say  I  had 
done  wimp  him  to  death,  an'  had  done  shoot 


140  P'LASKFS    TUN  AMEN  T. 

him,  an'  knock  him  in  de  haid,  an'  kill  him 
mo'  ways  '11  'twould  'a'  teck  to  kill  him  ef  he 
had  been  a  cat.  Lucindy  wuz  dyah.  I  had 
done  had  her  gwine  'bout  right  smart  meckin' 
quiration  for  P'laski.  At  least  she  say  she 
had,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  reservation,  and 
a  glance  of  some  suspicion  toward  his  spouse. 
"  An'  dee  wuz  a  whole  parecel  o'  niggers  stan'- 
in'  roun'  dyah,  black  as  buzzards  roun'  a  ole 
hoss  whar  dyin'.  An'  don'  you  know,  dat 
Jim  Sinknel'  say  he  sutne}^  hope  dee  would 
hang  me,  an'  all  jes  'cuz  he  owe'  me  two  dol 
lars  an'  seventy-three  cents,  whar  he  ain' 
warn'  pay  me  !  " 

"  Did  you  not  have  counsel  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"Council?" 

"  Yes  —  a  lawyer." 

"  Oh,  nor,  suh  ;  dat  is,  I  had  council,  but 
not  a  la'yar,  edzactly,"  he  replied,  with  care 
ful  discrimination.  "  I  had  a  some  sort  of  a 
la'yer,  but  not  much  of  a  one.  I  had  ixpected 
ole  Jedge  Thomas  to  git  me  off;  'cuz  he 
knowed  me ;  he  wuz  a  gent'man,  like  we  is  ; 
but  when  he  wuz  tooken  sick  so  providential 
I  wouldn'  had  no  urrs ;  I  lef  it  to  Gord.  De 
jedge  ax  me  at  de  trial  didn'  I  had  no  la'yar, 
and  I  tell  him  nor,  not  dyah ;  an'  he  ax  me 


P'LASKrS    TUNAMENT.  141 

didn'  I  had  no  money  to  get  one ;  an'  I  er- 
spon'  4  Nor,  I  didn'  had  none,'  although  I  had 
at  dat  time  forty-three  dollars  an'  sixty-eight 
cents  in  a  ole  rag  in  my  waistcoat  linin',  wlmr 
I  had  wid  me  down  in  de  sumac  bushes,  an' 
whar  I  thought  I  better  hole  on  to,  an'  'ain' 
made  no  mention  on.  So  den  de  jedge  ax  me 
wouldn'  I  had  a  young  man  dyah  —  a  right 
tall  young  man  ;  an'  I  enform  him :  4  Yes, 
suh.  Tdidn'  reckon  'twould  hu't  none.'  So 
den  he  come  an'  set  by  me  an'  say  he  wuz  my 
counsel." 

There  was  such  a  suggestion  of  contempt 
in  his  tone  that  I  inquired  if  he  had  not  done 
very  well. 

"  Oh,  yes,  suh,"  he  drawled,  slowly,  "  he 
done  toler'ble  well  —  considering.  He  do  de 
bes'  he  kin,  I  reckon.  He  holler  an'  mix  me 
up  some  right  smart ;  but  dee  wuz  too  strong 
for  him ;  he  warn'  no  mo'  to  'em  'n  wurrm  is 
to  woodpecker.  Major  Torm  Woods'  de  com- 
monwealph's  attorney,  is  a  powerful  la'yer; 
he  holler  so  you  kin  heah  him  three  mile. 
An'  ole  Mis'  Twine  wuz  dyah,  whar  tell  all 
'bout  de  ring,  an'  how  impident  I  wuz  to  her 
dat  day,  an'  skeer  her  to  death.  An'  dat  Jim 
Sinkfiel',  he  wnz  dvah,  an'  tolt'  'bout  how  I 


142  'LASKl'S    TUNAMENT. 

beat  P'laski,  an'  how  he  heah  him  'way  out  in 
main  road,  hollerin'  '  murder.'  An'  dee  had 
de  gre't  bundle  o'  hick'ries  dyah,  whar  dee 
done  fine  in  iny  house,  an'  dee  had  so  much 
evidence  dat  presney  I  'mos'  begin  to  think 
maybe  I  had  done  kilt  P'laski  sho  'nough,  an' 
had  disermembered  it.  An'  I  thought  'bout 
Marth'  Ann  an'  all  de  urr  chil'ern,  an'  I 
wondered  ef  dee  wuz  to  hang  me  ef  I  wouldn' 
fine  her ;  an'  I  got  so  I  mos'  hoped  dee  would 
sen'  me.  An  den  de  jury  went  out,  an'  stay 
some  time,  an'  come  back  an'  say  I  wuz  guilty, 
an'  sen'  me  to  de  Pen'tentiy  for  six  years." 

I  had  followed  him  so  closely,  and  been  so 
satisfied  of  his  innocence,  that  I  was  surprised 
into  an  exclamation  of  astonishment,  at  which 
he  was  evidently  much  pleased. 

"  What  did  your  counsel  do  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  put  his  head  on  one  side.  "  He  ?  He 
jes  lean  over  an'  ax  did  I  warn'  to  repeal.  I 
tell  him  I  didn't  know.  Den  he  ax  me  is 
I  got  any  money  at  all.  I  tell  him,  nor ;  ef  I 
had  I  would  'a'  got  me  a  la'yer." 

"  What  happened  then?  "  I  inquired,  laugh 
ing  at  his  discomfiting  reply. 

"Well,  den  de  jedge  tole  me  to  stan'  up, 
an'  ax  me  has  I  got  anything  to  say.  Well, 


P'LASEFS   TUXAMENT.  143 

I  know  dat  my  las'  chance,  an'  I  tell  him, 
4  Yes,  suh.'  An'  he  inform  me  to  precede  wid 
de  relation,  an'  so  I  did.  I  preceded,  an'  I 
tolt  'em  dyah  in  de  cote-house  ev'y  wud  jes 
like  I  have  explanified  it  heah.  I  tolt  'em 
all  'bout  Marth'  Ann  an'  de  chillern  I  hed  had ; 
I  reformed  'em  all  decernin'  de  Maconses ;  an' 
I  notified  'em  how  P'laski  wuz  dat  urr  ooman's 
son,  not  Marth'  Ann's,  an  'bout  de  tunament 
an'  how  I  had  demonstrated  wid  him  not  to 
ride  dyah,  an'  how  he  had  repudiated  my  ad 
monition,  an'  had  crown  de  queen  wid  ole  Mis' 
Twine  weddin'-ring,  whar  he  come  nigh  git- 
tin'  me  shot  fur ;  an'  how  I  had  presented  him 
de  hick'ry,  an'  'bout  how  he  had  departed  de 
premises  while  I  wuz  'sleep,  an'  had  purloined 
my  garment,  an'  how  I  wuz  waitin'  for  him, 
an'  getherin'  de  hick'ry  crap  an'  all.  An'  dee 
wuz  all  laughin',  'cuz  dee  know  I  wuz  relatin' 
de  gospel  truth,  an'  jes  den  I  heah  some  o'  de 
niggers  back  behine  call  out,  4  Hi !  heah  he 
now ! '  an'  I  look  roun',  an',  ef  you  b'lieve 
me,  suh,  dyah  wuz  P'laski,  jes  repeared,  all 
fixed  up,  wid  he  cane  an'  seegar  an'  all,  jes 
like  I  had  drawed  he  resemblance.  He  had 
done  been  to  Wash'n'n,  an'  had  done  come 
back  to  see  de  hangin'." 


144  P'LASKrS    TUNAMENT. 

The  old  fellow  broke  into  such  a  laugh  at 
the  reminiscence  that  I  asked  him,  "  Well, 
what  was  the  result  ?  " 

"  De  result,  suh,  wuz,  de  jury  teck  back  all 
dee  had  say,  an'  ax  me  to  go  down  to  de  tav 
ern  an'  have  much  whiskey  as  I  could  stan' 
up  to,  an'  dee'd  pay  for  it ;  an'  de  jedge  dis 
tracted  'em  to  tu'n  me  loose.  P'laski,  he  wuz 
sort  o'  bothered;  he  ain'  know  wherr  to  be 
tlisapp'inted  'bout  de  hangin'  or  pleased  wid 
bein'  set  up  so  as  de  centre  of  distraction,  tell 
ole  Mis'  Twine  begin  to  talk  'bout  'restin'  of 
him.  Dat  set  him  back  ;  but  I  ax  'em,  b'fo' 
dee  'rest  him,  couldn'  I  have  jurisdictionment 
on  him  for  a  leetle  while.  Dee  grant  my  be- 
ques',  'cuz  dee  know  I  gwine  to  erward  him 
accordin'  to  his  becessities,  an'  I  jes  nod 
my  head  to  him  an'  went  out.  When  we  got 
roun'  hine  de  jail,  I  invite  him  to  perfect  his 
coat.  He  nex'  garment  wuz  my  own  shut, 
an'  I  tolt  him  to  remove  dat  too ;  dat  I  had 
to  get  nigh  to  he  backbone,  an'  I  couldn't 
'ford  to  weah  out  dat  shut  no  mor'n  he  had 
done  already  weah  it.  Somebody  had  done 
fetch  de  bunch  o'  hick'ries  whar  dee  had  done 
fine  in  my  house,  an'  hit  jes  like  Providence. 
I  lay  'em  by  me  while  I  put  him  on  de  altar.  I 


P'LASKFS    TUNAMENT.  145 

jes  made  him  wrop  he  arms  roun'  a  little  locus'- 
tree,  an'  I  fasten  lie  wris'es  wid  he  own  gal 
lowses,  'cuz  I  dicln'  warn'  was'e  dem  hick'ries; 
an'  all  de  time  I  bindiii'  him  I  tellin'  him 
'bout  he  sins.  Den,  when  I  had  him  ready,  I 
begin,  an'  I  rehearse  de  motter  wid  him  f'om 
de  time  he  had  ax  me  'bout  de  tunament  spang 
tell  he  como  to  see  me  hang,  an'  wid  ev'y  wud 
I  gin  him  de  admonishment,  tell  when  I  gotthoo 
wid  him  he  wouldn'  'a'  tetch  a  ring  ef  he  had 
been  in  'em  up  to  he  neck ;  an'  as  to  shuts,  he 
would'  a'  gone  naked  in  frost  b'fo'  he'd  'a'  put 
one  on.  He  back  gin  out  b'fo'  my  hick'ries 
did;  but  I  didn'  wholly  lors  'em.  I  receive 
de  valyationo'  dem  too,  'cuz  when  I  let  up  on 
P'laski,  fust  man  I  see  wuz  clat  Jim  Sinkfiel', 
whar  had  warn'  me  hanged  'cuz  he  didn't  warn' 
pay  me  two  dollars  an'  seventy-three  cents. 
He  wuz  stan din'  dyah  lookin'  on,  'joy in'  hiself. 
I  jes  walk  up  to  him  an'  I  tolt  him  dat  he  could 
pay  it  right  den,  or  recommodate  me  to  teck 
de  res'  o'  de  hick'ries.  He  try  to  blunder  out 
o'  it,  but  all  de  folks  know  'bout  it  an'  dee 
wuz  wid  me,  an'  b'fo'  he  knowed  it  some  on 
'em  had  he  coat  off,  an'  had  stretch  him 
roun'  de  tree,  an'  tolt  me  to  perceed.  An' 
I  perceeded. 


146  P'LASKI'S    TUNAMENT. 

"  I  hadn't  quite  wo'  out  one  hick'ry  when 
he  holler  dat  he'd  bony  cle  money  an'  pay  it ; 
but  I  tolt  him,  nor ;  hiek'ries  had  riz ;  dat  I 
had  three  mo',  an'  I  warn'  show  him  a  man  can 
meek  a  boy  holler  4  murder '  an'  yit  not  kill 
him.  An'  dat  I  did,  too :  b'fo'  I  wuz  done  he 
hollered  'murder'  jes  natchel  as  P'laski." 

The  old  fellow's  countenance  beamed  with 
satisfaction  at  the  recollection  of  his  revenge. 
I  rewarded  his  narrative  with  a  donation 
which  he  evidently  considered  liberal ;  for  he 
not  only  was  profuse  in  his  thanks,  but  he  as 
sured  me  that  the  county  of  Hanover  had  pro 
duced  four  people  of  whom  he  was  duly  proud 
-Henry  Clay,  Doctor  Macon,  myself,  and 
himself. 


"RUN  TO  SEED; 


JIM'S  father  died  at  Gettysburg;  up  against 
the  Stone  Fence ;  went  to  heaven  in  a  char 
iot  of  fire  on  that  fateful  day  when  the  issue 
between  the  two  parts  of  the  country  was 
decided :  when  the  slaughter  on  the  Confed 
erate  side  was  such  that  after  the  battle  a 
lieutenant  was  in  charge  of  a  regiment,  and 
a  major  commanded  a  brigade. 

This  fact  was  much  to  Jim,  though  no  one 
knew  it :  it  tempered  his  mind :  ruled  his 
life.  He  never  remembered  the  time  when 
he  did  not  know  the  story  his  mother,  in  her 
worn  black  dress  and  with  her  pale  face,  used 
to  tell  him  of  the  bullet-dented  sword  and 
faded  red  sash  which  hung  on  the  chamber  wall. 

They  were  the  poorest  people  in  the  neigh 
borhood.  Everybody  was  poor ;  for  the  county 
lay  in  the  track  of  the  armies,  and  the  war 
had  swept  the  country  as  clean  as  a  floor. 
But  the  Uptons  were  the  poorest  even  in 
that  community.  Others  recuperated,  pulled 

147 


148 


RUN  TO  SEED: 


themselves  together,  and  began  after  a  time 
to  get  up.  The  Uptons  got  flatter  than  they 
were  before.  The  fences  (the  few  that  were 
left)  rotted ;  the  fields  grew  up  in  sassafras 
and  pines ;  the  barns  blew  down ;  the  houses 
decayed ;  the  ditches  filled ;  the  chills  came. 
"They're  the  shiftlesses'  people  in  the 
worl',"  said  Mrs.  Wagoner  with  a  shade  of 
asperity  in  her  voice  (or  was  it  satisfaction?). 
Mrs.  Wagoner's  husband  had  been  in  a  bomb 
proof  during  the  war,  when  Jim  Upton  (Jim's 
father)  was  with  his  company.  He  had  man 
aged  to  keep  his  teams  from  the  quarter 
masters,  and  had  turned  up  after  the  war  the 
richest. man  in  the  neighborhood.  He  lived 
on  old  Colonel  Duval's  place,  which  he  had 
bought  for  Confederate  money. 

"They're  the  shiftlesses'  people  in  the 
worl',"  said  Mrs.  Wagoner.  "Mrs.  Upton 
ain't  got  any  spirit:  she  jus'  sets  still  and 
cries  her  eyes  out." 

This  was  true,  every  word  of  it.  And  so 
was  something  else  that  Mrs.  Wagoner  said 
in  a  tone  of  reprobation,  about  "people  who 
made  their  beds  having  to  lay  on  them  "  ; 
this  process  of  incubation  being  too  well 
known  to  require  further  discussion. 


"RUN   TO    SEED."  149 

But  what  could  Mrs.  Upton  do  ?  She  could 
not  change  the  course  of  Destiny.  One  — 
especially  if  she  is  a  widow  with  bad  eyes,  and 
in  feeble  health,  living  on  the  poorest  place 
in  the  State  —  cannot  stop  the  stars  in  their 
courses.  She  could  not  blot  out  the  past,  nor 
undo  what  she  had  done.  She  would  not  if 
she  could.  She  could  not  undo  what  she  had 
done  when  she  ran  away  with  Jim  and  mar 
ried  him.  She  would  not  if  she  could.  At 
least,  the  memory  of  those  three  years  was 
hers,  and  nothing  could  take  it  from  her  — 
not  debts,  nor  courts,  nor  anything.  She 
knew  he  was  wild  when  she  married  him. 
Certainly  Mrs.  Wagoner  had  been  careful 
enough  to  tell  her  so,  and  to  tell  every  one 
else  so  too.  She  would  never  forget  the 
things  she  had  said.  Mrs.  Wagoner  never 
forgot  the  things  the  young  girl  said  either  — 
though  it  was  more  the  way  she  had  looked 
than  what  she  had  said.  And  when  Mrs. 
Wagoner  descanted  on  the  poverty  of  the 
Uptons  she  used  to  end  with  the  declaration : 
"  Well,  it  ain't  any  fault  of  mine  :  she  can't 
blame  me,  for  Heaven  knows  I  warned  her : 
I  did  my  duty  !  "  Which  was  true.  Warn 
ing  others  was  a  duty  Mrs.  Wagoner  sel- 


150  "EUN   TO    SEED." 

dom  omitted.  Mrs.  Upton  never  thought  of 
blaming  her,  or  any  one  else.  Not  all  her 
poverty  ever  drew  one  complaint  from  her  sad 
lips.  She  simply  sat  down  under  it,  that  was 
all.  She  did  not  expect  anything  else.  She 
had  given  her  Jim  to  the  South  as  gladly  as 
any  woman  ever  gave  her  heart  to  her  love. 
She  would  not  undo  it  if  she  could  —  not  even 
to  have  him  back,  and  God  knew  how  much 
she  wanted  him.  Was  not  his  death  glorious 
—  his  name  a  heritage  for  his  son  ?  She  could 
not  undo  the  debts  which  encumbered  the 
land ;  nor  the  interest  which  swallowed  it 
up ;  nor  the  suit  which  took  it  from  her  — 
that  is,  all  but  the  old  house  and  the  two  poor 
worn  old  fields  which  were  her  dower.  She 
would  have  given  up  those  too  if  it  had  not 
been  for  her  children,  Jim  and  Kitty,  and  for 
the  little  old  enclosure  on  the  hill  under  the 
big  thorn-trees  where  they  had  laid  him  when 
they  brought  him  back  in  the  broken  pine 
box  from  Gettysburg.  No,  she  could  not 
undo  the  past,  nor  alter  the  present,  nor 
change  the  future.  So  what  could  slu 
do? 

In  her  heart  Mrs.  Wagoner  was  glad  of  the 
poverty  of  the  Uptons ;  not  merely  glad  in 


"RUN   TO    SEED."  151 

the  general  negative  way  which  warms  the 
bosoms  of  most  of  us  as  we  consider  IIOAV 
much  better  off  we  are  than  our  neighbors  — 
the  "  Lord-I-thank-thee-that-I-am-not-as-other- 
men-are  "  way; — but  Mrs.  Wagoner  was  glad 
positively.  She  was  glad  that  any  of  the 
Uptons  and  the  Duvals  were  poor.  One  of 
her  grandfathers  had  been  what  Mrs.  Wagoner 
(when  she  mentioned  the  matter  at  all)  called 
"  Manager  "  for  one  of  the  Duvals.  She  was 
aware  that  most  people  did  not  accept  that 
term.  She  remembered  old  Colonel  Duval — 
the  old  Colonel  —  tall,  thin,  white,  grave. 
She  had  been  dreadfully  afraid  of  him.  She 
had  had  a  feeling  of  satisfaction  at  his  funeral. 
It  was  like  the  feeling  she  had  when  she 
learned  that  Colonel  Duval  had  not  forgiven 
Betty  nor  left  her  a  cent. 

Mrs.  Wagoner  used  to  go  to  see  Mrs.  Upton 
—  she  went  frequently.  It  was  "  her  duty  " 
she  said.  She  carried  her  things  —  especially 
advice.  There  are  people  whose  visits  are 
like  spells  of  illness.  It  took  Mrs.  Upton 
a  fortnight  to  get  over  one  of  these  visits  — 
to  convalesce.  Mrs.  Wagoner  was  "  a  mother 
to  her  "  :  at  least,  Mrs.  Wagoner  herself  said 
so.  In  some  respects  it  was  rather  akin  to 


152  "RUN   TO 

the  substance  of  that  name  which  forms  in 
vinegar.  It  was  hard  to  swallow :  it  galled. 
Even  Mrs.  Upton's  gentleness  was  overtaxed 
-  and  rebelled.  She  had  stood  all  the  homi 
lies—all  the  advice.  But  when  Mrs.  Wag 
oner,  with  her  lips  drawn  in,  after  wringing 
her  heart,  recalled  to  her  the  warning  she 
had  given  her  before  she  married,  she  stopped 
standing  it.  She  did  not  say  much ;  but  it 
was  enough  to  make  Mrs.  Wagoner's  stiff 
bonnet-bows  tremble.  Mrs.  Wagoner  walked 
out  feeling  chills  down  her  spine,  as  if 
Colonel  Duval  were  at  her  heels.  She  had 
"meant  to  talk  about  sending  Jim  to  school" : 
at  least  she  said  so.  She  condoled  with  every 
one  in  the  neighborhood  on  the  "  wretched 
ignorance "  in  which  Jim  was  growing  up, 
"  working  like  a  common  negro."  She  called 
him  "  that  ugly  boy." 

Jim  was  ugly  —  Mrs.  Wagoner  said,  very 
ugly.  He  was  slim,  red-headed,  freckle-faced, 
weak-eyed;  he  stooped  and  he  stammered. 
Yet  there  was  something  about  him,  with  his 
thin  features,  which  made  one  look  twice. 
Mrs.  Wagoner  used  to  say  she  did  not  know 
where  that  boy  got  all  his  ugliness  from,  for 
she  must  admit  his  father  was  rather  good- 


"  K  UN    TO    SEED."  153 

looking  before  he  became  so  bloated,  and 
Betty  Duval  would  have  been  "  passable  "  if 
she  had  had  any  "vivacity."  There  were 
people  who  said  Betty  Duval  had  been  a 
beauty.  She  was  careful  in  her  limitations, 
Mrs.  Wagoner  was.  Some  women  will  not 
admit  others  are  pretty,  no  matter  what  the 
difference  in  their  ages :  they  feel  as  if  they 
were  making  admissions  against  themselves. 

Once  when  Jim  was  a  boy  Mrs.  Wagoner 
had  the  good  taste  to  refer  in  his  presence 
to  his  "homeliness,"  a  term  with  which  she 
sugar-coated  her  insult.  Jim  grinned  and 
shuffled  his  feet,  and  then  said,  u  Kitty's 
pretty."  It  was  true  :  Kitty  was  pretty  :  she 
had  eyes  and  hair.  You  could  not  look  at 
her  without  seeing  them  —  big  brown  eyes, 
and  brown  tumbled  hair.  Kitty  was  fifteen  — 
two  years  younger  than  Jim  in  187-. 

Jim  never  went  to  school.  They  were  too 
poor.  All  he  knew  his  mother  taught  him 
and  he  got  out  of  the  few  old  books  in  the 
book-case  left  by  the  war,  —  odd  volumes  of 
the  Waverley  novels,  and  the  Spectator,  "  Don 
Quixote,"  and  a  few  others,  stained  and  bat 
tered.  He  could  not  have  gone  to  school  if 
there  had  been  a  school  to  go  to :  he  had  to 


154  "RUN    TO 


work  :  work,  as  Mrs.  Wagoner  had  truthfully 
said,  "like  a  common  nigger."  He  did  not 
mind  it;  a  bird  born  in  a  cage  cannot  mind  it 
much.  The  pitiful  part  is,  it  does  not  know 
anything  else.  Jim  did  not  know  anything 
else.  He  did  not  mind  anything  much  —  ex 
cept  chills.  He  even  got  used  to  them  ;  would 
just  lie  down  and  shake  for  an  hour  and 
then  go  to  ploughing  again  as  soon  as  the 
ague  was  over,  with  the  fever  on  him.  He 
had  to  plough  ;  for  corn  was  necessary.  He 
had  this  compensation:  he  was  worshipped 
by  two  people  —  his  mother  and  Kitty.  If 
other  people  thought  him  ugly,  they  thought 
him  beautiful.  If  others  thought  him  dull, 
they  thought  him  wonderfully  clever  ;  if 
others  thought  him  ignorant,  they  knew  how 
wise  he  was. 

Mrs.  Upton's  eyes  were  bad  ;  but  she  saw 
enough  to  see  Jim  :  the  light  came  into  the 
house  with  him;  Kitty  sat  and  gazed  at  him 
with  speechless  admiration  ;  hung  on  his 
words,  which  were  few  ;  watched  for  his 
smile,  which  was  rare.  He  repaid  it  to  her  by 
being  —  Jim.  He  slaved  for  her;  waited  for 
her  (when  a  boy  waits  for  his  little  sister  it 
is  something)  ;  played  with  her  when  he  had 


"RUN    TO    SEED."  155 

time  (this  also  was  something)  ;  made  traps 
for  her ;  caught  her  young  squirrels,  —  was  at 
once  her  slave  and  her  idol.  As  he  grew  up 
he  did  not  have  time  to  play.  He  had  to 
plough:  "just  like  a  common  nigger,"  Mrs. 
Wagoner  said  with  an  unclouded  face.  In 
this  she  spoke  the  truth. 

It  is  a  curious  thing  that  farming  paid  bet 
ter  shortly  after  the  war  than  it  did  later. 
Lands  fell.  Times  grew  harder.  They  were 
always  growing  harder  with  Jim.  The  land 
was  worked  out.  Guano  was  necessary  to 
make  anything  grow.  Guano  was  bought  on 
credit.  The  crops  would  not  pay.  Several 
summers  there  was  drouth ;  crops  failed. 
One  of  the  two  old  mules  that  he  had  died ; 
Jim  ploughed  with  one.  Then  he  broke  his 
leg.  When  he  got  about  again  he  was  lame : 
the  leg  had  shortened. 

"  They're  the  shiftlesses'  folks  in  the  worl'," 
said  Mrs.  Wagoner;  "they  can't  blame  me. 

Heaven  knows  I  told "  etc.  Which  was 

true  —  more  than  true. 

Jim  ploughed  on,  only  slower  than  ever, 
thinner  than  ever,  sleepier  than  ever. 

One  day  something  happened  which  waked 
him  up.  It  was  a  Sunday.  They  went  to 


156  "BUN    TO    SEED." 

church;  they  always  went  to  church  —  old  St. 
Ann's  —  whenever  there  was  service.  There 
was  service  there  since  the  war  only  every 
first  and  third  Sunday  and  every  other  fifth 
Sunday.  The  Uptons  and  the  Duvals  had 
been  vestrymen  from  the  time  they  had 
brought  the  bricks  over  from  England,  gen 
erations  ago.  They  had  sat,  one  family  iri 
one  of  the  front  semicircular  pews  on  one 
side  the  chancel,  the  other  family  in  the 
other.  Mrs.  Upton,  after  the  war,  had  her 
choice  of  the  pews ;  for  all  had  gone  but  her 
self,  Jim,  and  Kitty.  She  had  changed,  the 
Sunday  after  her  marriage,  to  the  Upton  side, 
and  she  clung  loyally  to  it  ever  after.  Mrs. 
Wagoner  had  taken  the  other  pew  —  a  cold, 
she  explained  at  first,  had  made  her  deaf. 
She  always  spoke  of  it  afterward  as  "  our 
pew."  (The  Billings,  from  which  Mrs. 
Wagoner  came,  had  not  been  Episcopalians 
until  Mrs.  Wagoner  married.)  Carry  Wag 
oner,  who  was  a  year  older  than  Kitty,  used 
to  sit  by  her  mother,  with  her  big  hat  and 
brown  hair.  Jim,  in  right  of  his  sex,  sat 
in  the  end  of  his  pew. 

On  this  Sunday  in  question  Jim  drove  his 
mother  and  Kitty  to  church  in  the  horse  cart. 


11  RUN   TO    SEED."  157 

The  old  carriage  was  a  wreck,  slowly  drop 
ping  to  pieces.  The  chickens  roosted  in  it. 
The  cart  was  the  only  vehicle  remaining 
which  had  two  sound  wheels,  and  even  one 
of  these  "  wabbled "  a  good  deal,  and  the 
cart  was  "  shackling."  But  straw  placed 
in  the  bottom  made  it  fairly  comfortable. 
Jim  always  had  clean  straw  in  it  for  his 
mother  and  sister.  His  mother  and  Kitty  re 
marked  on  it.  Kitty  looked  so  well.  They 
reached  church.  The  day  was  warm,  Mr. 
Bickersteth  was  dry.  Jim  went  to  sleep  dur 
ing  the  sermon.  He  frequently  did  this.  He 
had  been  up  since  four.  When  service  was 
over  he  partially  waked  —  about  half-waked. 
He  was  standing  in  the  aisle  moving  toward 
the  door  with  the  rest  of  the  congregation.  A 
voice  behind  him  caught  his  ear : 

"  What  a  lovely  girl  Kitty  Upton  is."  It 
was  Mrs.  Harrison,  who  lived  at  the  other  end 
of  the  parish.  Jim  knew  the  voice.  Another 
voice  replied : 

"  If  she  only  were  not  always  so  shabby  !  " 
Jim  knew  this  voice  also.  It  was  Mrs.  Wag 
oner's.  Jim  waked. 

"  Yes,  but  even  her  old  darned  dress  can 
not  hide  her.  She  reminds  me  of "  Jim 


158  "#ra  TO 


did  not  know  what  it  was  to  which  Mrs.  Har 
rison  likened  her.  But  he  knew  it  was  some 
thing  beautiful. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Wagoner  ;  then  added, 
"Poor  thing,  she's  got  no  education,  and 
never  will  have.  To  think  that  old  Colonel 
Duval's  fam'bly's  come  to  this!  Well,  they 
can't  blame  me.  They're  clean  run  to  seed." 

Jim  got  out  into  the  air.  He  felt  sick. 
He  had  been  hit  vitally.  This  was  what 
people  thought  !  and  it  was  true.  They 
were  "  clean  run  to  seed."  He  went  to 
get  his  cart.  (He  did  not  speak  to  Kitty.) 
His  home  came  before  his  eyes  like  a  photo 
graph  :  fences  down,  gates  gone,  houses  ruin 
ous,  fields  barren.  It  came  to  him  as  if 
stamped  on  the  retina  by  a  lightning-flash. 
He  had  worked  —  worked  hard.  But  it  was 
no  use.  It  was  true  :  they  were  "  clean  run 
to  seed."  He  helped  his  mother  and  Kitty 
into  the  cart  silently  —  doggedly.  Kitty 
smiled  at  him.  It  hurt  him  like  a  blow.  He 
saw  every  Avorn  place,  every  darn  in  her  old 
dress,  and  little,  faded  jacket.  Mrs.  Wag 
oner  drove  past  them  in  her  carriage,  leaning 
out  of  the  window  and  calling  that  she  took 
the  liberty  of  passing  as  she  drove  faster  than 


TO  SEED."  159 


they.  Jim  gave  his  old  mule  a  jerk  which 
made  him  throw  up  his  head  and  wince  with 
pain.  He  was  sorry  for  it.  But  he  had  been 
jerked  up  short  himself.  He  was  quivering 
too. 


II. 

ON  the  following  Friday  the  President  of 
one  of  the  great  railway  lines  which  cross 
Virginia  was  in  his  office  when  the  door 
opened  after  a  gentle  knock  and  some  one 
entered.  (The  offices  of  presidents  of  rail 
roads  had  not  then  become  the  secret  and 
mysterious  sanctums  which  they  have  since 
become.)  The  President  was  busily  engaged 
with  two  or  three  of  the  Directors,  wealthy 
capitalists  from  the  North,  who  had  come 
down  on  important  business.  He  was  very 
much  engrossed ;  and  he  did  not  look  up  im 
mediately.  When  he  did  so  he  saw  standing 
inside  the  door  a  queer  figure, — long,  slim, 
angular,  —  a  man  who  looked  like  a  boy,  or 
a  boy  who  looked  like  a  man  —  red-headed, 
freckled-faced,  bashful,  —  in  a  coat  too  tight 
even  for  his  thin  figure,  breeches  too  short  for 
his  long  legs ;  his  hat  was  old  and  brown ;  his 
shirt  was  clean. 


1GO  "RUN    TO    SEED." 

"Well,  what  do  you  want?"  The  Presi 
dent  was  busy. 

It  was  Jim.  His  face  twitched  several 
times  before  any  sound  came : 

" —  I-  w-  w-  w  want  t- 1-  t-  to  ge-  get 
a  place." 

"  This  is  not  the  place  to  get  it.  I  have 
no  place  for  you." 

The  President  turned  back  to  his  friends. 
At  the  end  of  ten  minutes,  seeing  one  of  his 
visitors  look  toward  the  door,  he  stopped  in 
the  middle  of  a  sentence  and  glanced  around. 

The  figure  was  still  there  —  motionless. 
The  President  thought  he  had  been  out  and 
come  back.  He  had  not. 

"  Well  ?  "     His  key  was  high. 

" I-  I-  w-  w-  want  to-  to  get  a 

place." 

"  I  told  you  I  had  no  place  for  you.  Go 
to  the  Superintendent." 

"  -      -  I-  I've  b-  b-  b-  been  to  him." 

"Well,  what  did  he  say?" 

"  S-  s-  s-  says  he  ain't  got  any  place." 

"  Well,  I  haven't  any.     Go  to  Mr.  Blake." 

" Iv'e  b-  been  to  him" 

"  Well,  go  to  —  to  —  The  President  was 
looking  for  a  paper.  It  occupied  his  mind. 


11  BUN    TO    SEED."  101 

He  did  not  think  any  further  of  Jim.     But 
Jim  was  there. 

«  —  Go-  go  where  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  don't  know— go  anywhere  —  go 
out  of  here." 

Jim's  face  worked.  He  turned  and  went 
slowly  out.  As  he  reached  the  door  he  said : 

u  GO_  g0_  good-evening  g-  gentlemen." 

The  President's  heart  relented :  "  Go  to 
the  Superintendent,"  he  called. 

Next  day  he  was  engaged  with  his  Direc 
tors  when  the  door  opened  and  the  same 
apparition  stepped  within  —  tall,  slim,  red- 
haired,  with  his  little  tight  coat,  short  trousers, 
and  clean  shirt. 

The  President  frowned. 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

« I-  I-  I  w-  w-  w-  went   to-  to   the 

S-  S-  Superintendent." 

"Well,  what  about  it?" 
"  Y-  y-  you  told  me  to-  to  go-  go  to  him. 
II -  e-  e  ain't  got  any  place."     The  Directors 
smiled.     One  of  them  leaned  back  in  his  chair, 
took  out  a  cigar  and  prepared  to  cut  the  end. 
"  Well,  I  can't  help  it.     I  haven't  anything 
for  you.     I  told   you  that   yesterday.     You 
must  not  come  here  bothering  me;  get  out." 


1  "  RUX   TO   SEED." 

Jim   stood   perfectly  still — perfectly  mo 
tionless.     He  looked  as  if  he  had  been  there 
always  —  would  be   there   always.     The  Di 
rector  with  the  cigar,  having   cut   it,    took 
out  a  gold  match-box,  and  opened  it  slowly, 
looking  at  Jim  with  an  amused  smile.     The 
President  frowned  and  opened  his  mouth  to 
order  him  out.     He  changed  his  mind. 
"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 
"  J-  J-  James  Upton." 
"Where  from?" 
Jim  told  him. 
"  Whose  son  are  you  ?  " 
"  C-  C-  C-  Captain  J-  J-  James  Upton's." 
"  What !     You  don't  look  much  like  him ! " 
Jim  shuffled  one  foot.     One  corner  of  his 
mouth  twitched  up  curiously.     It  might  have 
been  a  smile.    He  looked  straight  at  the  blank 
wall  before  him. 

"  You  are  not  much  like  your  mother  either 
—  I  used  to  know  her  as  a  girl.  How's 
that?" 

Jim  shuffled  the  other  foot  a  little. 
"  R-  r-  run  to  seed,  I  reckon." 
The  President  was  a  farmer  —  prided  him 
self    on    it.     The    reply   pleased    him.     He 
touched  a  bell.     A  clerk  entered. 


"RUN    TO    SEED."  163 

44  Ask  Mr.  Wake  to  come  here." 
"  Can  you  cany  a   barrel   of   flour?"   he 
asked  Jim. 

" 1-  I'll  get  it  there,"  said  Jim.     He  leaned 
a  little  forward.     His  eyes  opened. 

"  Or  a  sack  of  salt  ?    They  are  right  heavy." 
« I-  I-  I'll  get  it  there,"  said  Jim.      His 
form  straightened. 
Mr.  Wake  appeared. 

"  Write  Mr.  Day  to  give  this  man  a  place 
as  brakeman." 

"  Yes,  sir.     Come  this  way."     This  to  Jim. 
Jim  electrified  them  all  by  suddenly  burst 
ing  out  crying. 

The  tension  had  given  way.  He  walked 
up  to  the  wall  and  leaned  his  head  against 
it  with  his  face  on  his  arm,  shaking  from  head 
to  foot,  sobbing  aloud. 

"  Thank  you,  I  —  I'm  ever  so  much  obliged 
to  you,"  he  sobbed. 

The  President  rose  and  walked  rapidly 
about  the  room. 

Suddenly  Jim  turned  and,  with  his  arm 
over  his  eyes,  held  out  his  hand  to  the 
President. 

"  Good-by."     Then  he  went  out. 
There  was  a  curious  smile  on  the  faces  of 
the  Directors  as  the  door  closed. 


164 


BUN  TO  SEED: 


"  Well,  I  never  saw  anything  like  that  be 
fore,"  said  one  of  them.  The  President  said 
nothing. 

"Run  to  seed,"  quoted  the  oldest  of  the 
Directors,  "  rather  good  expression  !  " 

"Damned  good  seed,  gentlemen,"  said  the 
President,  a  little  shortly.  "  Duval  and  Upton. 
-  That  fellow's  father  was  in  my  command. 
Died  at  Gettysburg.  He'd  fight  hell." 

Jim  got  a  place  — brakeman  on  a  freight- 
train. 

That  night  Jim  wrote  a  letter  home.  You'd 
have  thought  he  had  been  elected  President. 

It  was  a  hard  life  :  harder  than  most.  The 
work  was  hard ;  the  fare  was  hard ;  the  life 
was  hard.  Standing  on  top  of  rattling  cars 
as  they  rushed  along  in  the  night  around 
curves,  over  bridges,  through  tunnels,  with 
the  rain  and  snow  pelting  in  your  face,  and 
the  tops  as  slippery  as  ice.  There  was  excite 
ment  about  it,  too :  a  sense  of  risk  and  dan 
ger.  Jim  did  not  mind  it  much.  He  thought 
of  his  mother  and  Kitty. 

There  was  a  freemasonry  among  the  men. 
All  knew  each  other;  hated  or  liked  each 
other ;  nothing  negative  about  it. 

It  was  a  bad  road.     Worse  than  the  aver- 


"RUN   TO    SEED."  165 

age.  Twice  the  amount  of  traffic  was  done 
on  the  single  track  that  should  have  been 
done.  Result  was  men  were  ground  up  — 
more  than  on  most  roads.  More  men  were 
killed  in  proportion  to  the  number  employed 
than  were  killed  in  service  during  the  war. 
The  esprit  de  corps  was  strong.  Men  stood 
by  their  trains  and  by  each  other.  When  a 
man  left  his  engine  in  sight  of  trouble,  the 
authorities  might  not  know  about  it,  but  the 
men  did.  Unless  there  was  cause  he  had  to 
leave.  Sam  Wray  left  his  engine  in  sight  of 
a  broken  bridge  after  he  reversed.  The  en 
gine  stopped  on  the  track.  The  officers  never 
knew  of  it ;  but  Wray  and  his  fireman  both 
changed  to  another  road.  When  a  man  even 
got  shaky  and  began  to  run  easy,  the  super 
intendent  might  not  mind  it ;  but  the  men 
did :  he  had  to  go.  A  man  had  to  have  not 
only  courage  but  nerve. 

Jim  was  not  especially  popular  among  men. 
He  was  reserved,  slow,  awkward.  He  was 
"pious"  (that  is,  did  not  swear).  He 
was  "stuck  up  "  (did  not  tell  "funny  things," 
by  which  was  meant  vulgar  stories  ;  nor  laugh 
at  them  either).  And  according  to  Dick  Rail, 
he  was  "stingy  as  h— 1." 


166  "  RUM    TO   SEED." 

These  things  were  not  calculated  to  make 
him  popular,  and  he  was  not.  He  was  a  sort 
of  butt  for  the  free  and  easy  men  who  lived 
in  their  cabs  and  cabooses,  obeyed  their  "  or 
ders,"  and  owned  nothing  but  their  overalls 
and  their  shiny  Sunday  clothes.  He  was 
good-tempered,  though.  Took  all  their  gibes 
and  "  dev'ling  "  quietly,  and  for  the  most  part 
silently.  So,  few  actually  disliked  him.  Dick 
Rail,  the  engineer  of  his  crew,  was  one  of 
those  few.  Dick  "  dee-spised  "  him.  Dick  was 
big,  brawny,  coarse :  coarse  in  looks,  coarse 
in  talk,  coarse  every  way,  and  when  he  had 
liquor  in  him  he  was  mean.  Jim  "  bothered  " 
him,  he  said.  He  made  Jim's  life  a  burden 
to  him.  He  laid  himself  out  to  do  it.  It 
became  his  occupation.  He  thought  about  it 
when  Jim  was  not  present ;  laid  plans  for  it. 
There  was  something  about  Jim  that  was  dif 
ferent  from  most  others.  When  Jim  did  not 
laugh  at  a  "  hard  story,"  but  just  sat  still, 
some  men  would  stop  ;  Dick  always  told  an 
other  harder  yet,  and  called  attention  to  Jim's 
looks.  His  stock  was  inexhaustible.  His 
mind  was  like  a  spring  which  ran  muddy 
water;  its  flow  was  perpetual.  The  men 
thought  Jim  did  not  mind.  He  lost  three 


JV    TO    SEED."  167 


pounds  ;  which  for  a  man  who  was  six  feet 
(and  would  have  been  six  feet  two  if  he  had 
been  straight)  and  who  weighed  122,  was 
considerable. 

It  is  astonishing  how  one  man  can  ere  me 

a  public  sentiment.     One  woman  can  ruin  ^ 

reputation  as  effectually  as  a  churchf  ul.    One 

bullet  can  kill  a  man  as  dead  as  a  bushel,  if 

it  hits  him  right.     So  Dick  Rail  injured  Jim. 

For  Dick  was  an  authority.     He  swore  the 

biggest  oaths,  wore  the  largest  watch-chain, 

knew  his  engine  better  and  sat  it  steadier 

than  any  man  on  the  road.     He  had  had  a 

passenger  train  again  and  again,  but  he  was 

too  fond  of  whiskey.    It  was  too  risky.    Dick 

affected   Jim's  standing:    told  stories  about 

him  :  made  his  life  a  burden  to  him.     "  He 

shan't  stay  on  the   road,"    he    used  to  say. 

"He's  stingier'n-   -!     Carries   his  victuals 

about  with  him  —  I  b'lieve  he  sleeps  with  one 

o'  them  I-talians  in  a  goods  box."     This  was 

true  —  at  least,  about  carrying  his  food  with 

him.     (The  rest  was  Dick's  humor.)     Mess 

ing  cost  too  much.     The  first  two   months' 

pay  went  to  settle  an  old  guano-bill  ;  but  the 

third  month's  pay  was   Jim's.     The  day  he 

drew  that  he  fattened  a  good  deal.     At  least, 


168  "HUN   TO   SEED." 

he  looked  so.  It  was  eighty-two  dollars  (for 
Jim  ran  extra  runs ;  —  made  double  time  when 
ever  he  could).  Jim  had  never  had  so  much 
money  in  his  life ;  had  hardly  ever  seen  it. 
He  walked  about  the  streets  that  night  till 
nearly  midnight,  feeling  the  wad  of  notes  in 
his  breast-pocket.  Next  day  a  box  went  down 
the  country,  and  a  letter  with  it,  and  that 
night  Jim  could  not  have  bought  a  chew  of 
tobacco.  The  next,  letter  he  got  from  home 
was  heavy.  Jim  smiled  over  it  a  good  deal, 
and  cried  a  little  too.  He  wondered  how 
Kitty  looked  in  her  new  dress,  and  if  the 
barrel  of  flour  made  good  bread;  and  if  his 
mother's  shaAvl  was  warm. 

One  day  he  was  changed  to  the  passenger 
service,  the  express.  It  was  a  promotion, 
paid  more,  and  relieved  him  from  Dick  Rail. 

He  had  some  queer  experiences  being  or 
dered  around,  but  he  swallowed  them  all. 
He  had  not  been  there  three  weeks  when 
Mrs.  Wagoner  was  a  passenger  on  the  train. 
Carry  was  with  her.  They  had  moved  to 
town.  (Mr.  Wagoner  was  interested  in  rail 
road  development.)  Mrs.  Wagoner  called 
him  to  her  seat,  and  talked  to  him  —  in  a 
loud  voice.  Mrs.  Wagoner  had  a  loud  voice. 


"  It  UN   TO   SEED."  169 

It  had  the  "  carrying  "  quality.  She  did  not 
shake  hands ;  Carry  did  and  said  she  was  so 
glad  to  see  him:  she  had  been  down  home 
the  week  before  —  had  seen  his  mother  and 
Kitty.  Mrs.  Wagoner  said,  "We  still  keep 
our  plantation  as  a  country  place."  Carry 
said  Kitty  looked  so  well;  her  new  dress 
was  lovely.  Mrs.  Wagoner  said  his  mother's 
eyes  were  worse.  She  and  Kitty  had  walked 
over  to  see  them,  to  show  Kitty's  new  dress. 
She  had  promised  that  Mr.  Wagoner  would 
do  what  he  could  for  him  (Jim)  on  the  road. 
Next  month  Jim  went  back  to  the  freight 
service.  He  preferred  Dick  Rail  to  Mrs. 
Wagoner.  He  got  him.  Dick  was  Avorse 
than  ever,  his  appetite  was  whetted  by  ab 
stinence  ;  he  returned  to  his  attack  with  re 
newed  zest.  He  never  tired  —  never  flagged. 
He  was  perpetual :  he  was  remorseless.  He 
made  Jim's  life  a  wilderness.  Jim  said  noth 
ing,  just  slouched  along  silenter  than  ever, 
quieter  than  ever,  closer  than  ever.  He 
took  to  going  on  Sunday  to  another  church 
than  the  one  he  had  attended,  a  more  fash 
ionable  one  than  that.  The  Wagoners  went 
there.  Jim  sat  far  back  in  the  gallery,  very 
f.ir  back,  where  he  could  just  see  the  top  of 


170  "RUN   TO   SEED." 

Carry's  head,  her  big  hat  and  her  face,  and 
could  not  see  Mrs.  Wagoner,  who  sat  nearer 
the  gallery.  It  had  a  curious  effect  on  him : 
he  never  went  to  sleep  there.  He  took  to  go 
ing  up-town  walking  by  the  stores  —  looking 
in  at  the  windows  of  tailors  and  clothiers. 
Once  he  actually  went  into  a  shop  and  asked 
the  price  of  a  new  suit  of  clothes.  ( He 
needed  them  badly.)  The  tailor  unfolded 
many  rolls  of  cloth  and  talked  volubly: 
talked  him  dizzy.  Jim  looked  wistfully  at 
them,  rubbed  his  hand  over  them  softly,  felt 
the  money  in  his  pocket ;  and  came  out.  He 
said  he  thought  he  might  come  in  again. 
Next  day  he  did  not  have  the  money.  Kitty 
wrote  him  she  could  not  leave  home  to  go  to 
school  on  their  mother's  account,  but  she 
would  buy  books,  and  she  was  learning ;  she 
would  learn  fast,  her  mother  was  teaching 
her ;  and  he  was  the  best  brother  in  the  world, 
the  whole  world ;  and  they  had  a  secret,  but 
he  must  wait. 

One  day  Jim  got  a  big  bundle  from  down 
the  country.  It  was  a  new  suit  of  clothes. 
On  top  was  a  letter  from  Kitty.  This  was 
the  secret.  She  and  her  mother  had  sent 
for  the  cloth  and  had  made  them ;  they 


TO  SEED:'  171 


hoped  they  would  fit.  They  had  cried  over 
them.  Jim  cried  a  little  too.  He  put  them 
on.  They  did  not  fit,  were  much  too  large. 
Under  Dick  Rail's  fire  Jim  had  grown  even 
thinner  than  before.  But  he  wore  them 
to  church.  He  felt  that  it  would  have  been 
untrue  to  his  mother  and  Kitty  not  to  wear 
them.  He  was  sorry  to  meet  Dick  Rail  on 
the  street.  Dick  had  on  a  black  broadcloth 
coat,  a  velvet  vest,  and  large-checked  trou 
sers.  Dick  looked  Jim  over.  Jim  winced, 
flushed  a  little  :  he  was  not  so  sunburned  now. 
Dick  saw  it.  Next  week  Dick  caught  Jim 
in  a  crowd  in  the  "yard"  waiting  for  their 
train.  He  told  about  the  meeting.  He  made  a 
double  shot.  He  said,  "  Boys,  Jim's  in  love, 
he's  got  new  clothes  !  you  ought  to  see  'em  !  " 
Dick  was  graphic  ;  he  wound  up  :  "  They 
hung  on  him  like  breechin'  on  his  old  mule. 
By  -  !  I  b'lieve  he  was  too  -  stingy 
to  buy  'em  and  made  'em  himself."  There 
was  a  shout  from  the  crowd.  Jim's  face 
worked.  He  jumped  for  him.  There  was  a 
handspike  lying  near  and  he  seized  it.  Some 
one  grabbed  him,  but  he  shook  him  off  as  if 
he  had  been  a  child.  Why  he  did  not  kill 
Dick  no  one  ever  knew.  He  meant  to  do  it. 


172  "RUN    TO    SEED." 

For  some  time  they  thought  he  was  dead. 
He  laid  off  for  over  a  month.  After  that 
Jim  wore  what  clothes  he  chose :  no  one 
ever  troubled  him. 

So  he  went  on  in  the  same  way :  slow,  sleepy, 
stuttering,  thin,  stingy,  ill-dressed,  lame. 

He  was  made  a  fireman ;  preferred  it  to  be 
ing  a  conductor,  it  led  to  being  an  engineer, 
which  paid  more.  He  ran  extra  trips  when 
ever  he  could,  up  and  double  straight  back. 
He  could  stand  an  immense  amount  of  work. 
If  he  got  sleepy  he  put  tobacco  in  his  eyes  to 
keep  them  open.  It  was  bad  for  the  eyes, 
but  waked  him  up.  Kitty  was  going  to  take 
music  next  year,  and  that  cost  money.  lie 
had  not  been  home  for  several  months,  but 
was  going  at  Christmas. 

They  did  not  have  any  sight  tests  then. 
But  the  new  Directory  meant  to  be  thorough. 
Mr.  Wagoner  had  become  a  Director,  had  his 
eye  on  the  presidency.  Jim  Avas  one  day  sent 
for,  and  was  asked  about  his  eyes.  They  were 
bad.  There  was  not  a  doubt  about  it.  They 
were  inflamed;  he  could  not  see  a  hundred 
yards.  He  did  not  tell  them  about  the  extra 
trips  and  putting  the  tobacco  in  them.  Dick 
Rail  must  have  told  about  him.  They  said  lie 


"  KUN    TO    SEED."  173 

must  go.  Jim  turned  white.  He  went  to  his 
little  room,  close  up  under  the  roof  of  a  little 
dingy  house  in  a  back  street,  and  sat  down  in 
the  dark ;  thought  about  his  mother  and 
Kitty,  and  dimly  about  some  one  else  ;  wrote 
his  mother  and  Kitty  a  letter;  said  he  was 
coming  home  —  called  it  "  a  visit "  ;  cried 
over  the  letter,  but  was  careful  not  to  cry  on 
it.  He  was  a  real  cry-baby  —  Jim  was. 

"Just  run  to  seed,"  he  said  to  himself, 
bitterly,  over  and  over;  "just  run  to  seed." 
Then  he  went  to  sleep. 

The  following  day  he  went  down  to  the 
railroad.  That  was  the  last  day.  Next  day 
he  would  be  "off."  The  train-master  saw 
him  and  called  him.  A  special  was  just  go 
ing  out.  The  Directors  were  going  over  the 
road  in  the  officers'  car.  Dick  Rail  was  the 
engineer,  and  his  fireman  had  been  taken 
sick.  Jim  must  take  the  place.  Jim  had  a 
mind  not  to  do  it.  He  hated  Dick.  He 
thought  of  how  he  had  pursued  him.  But 
he  heard  a  voice  behind  him  and  turned. 
Carry  was  standing  down  the  platform,  talk 
ing  with  some  elderly  gentlemen.  She  had 
on  a  travelling  cap  and  ulster.  She  saw  him 
and  came  forward  —  a  step : 


174  "RUN    TO   SEED." 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  she  held  out  her  little 
gloved  hand.  She  was  going  out  over  the 
road  with  her  father.  Jim  took  off  his  hat 
and  shook  hands  with  her.  Dick  Rail  saw 
him,  walked  round  the  other  side  of  the  en 
gine,  and  tried  to  take  off  his  hat  like  that. 
It  was  not  a  success ;  Dick  knew  it. 

Jim  went. 

"Who  was  that?"  one  of  the  elderly  gen 
tlemen  asked  Carry. 

"  An  old  friend  of  mine  —  a  gentleman," 
she  said. 

"Rather  run  to  seed  — hey?"  the  old  fel 
low  quoted,  without  knowing  exactly  why; 
for  he  only  half  recognized  Jim,  if  he  recog 
nized  him  at  all. 

They  started. 

It  was  a  bad  trip.  The  weather  was  bad, 
the  road  was  bad,  the  engine  bad ;  Dick  bad ; 
—  worse  than  all.  Jim  had  a  bad  time :  he 
was  to  be  off  when  he  got  home.  What 
would  his  mother  and  Kitty  do? 

Once  Carry  came  (brought  by  the  Presi 
dent)  and  rode  in  the  engine  for  a  little 
while.  Jim  helped  her  up  and  spread  his 
coat  for  her  to  sit  on,  put  his  overcoat  under 
her  feet ;  his  heart  was  in  it.  Dick  was  sul- 


"HUN    TO    SEED."  175 

len,  and  Jim  had  to  show  her  about  the  en 
gine.  When  she  got  down  to  go  back  to  the 
car  she  thanked  him  —  she  "had  enjoyed  it 
greatly" — she  "would  like  to  try  it  again." 
film  smiled.  He  was  almost  good-looking 
when  he  smiled. 

Dick  was  meaner  than  ever  after  that, 
sneered  at  Jim  —  swore  ;  but  Jim  didn't  mind 
it.  He  was  thinking  of  some  one  else,  and  of 
the  rain  which  would  prevent  her  coming 
again. 

They  were  on  the  return  trip,  and  were 
half-way  home  when  the  accident  happened. 
It  was  just  "  good  dusk,"  and  it  had  been  rain 
ing  all  night  and  all  day,  and  the  road  was  as 
rotten  as  mud.  The  special  was  behind  and 
was  making  up.  She  had  the  right  of  way, 
and  she  was  flying.  She  rounded  a  curve 
just  above  a  small  "  fill,"  under  which  was  a 
little  stream,  nothing  but  a  mere  "branch." 
In  good  weather  it  would  never  be  noticed. 
The  gay  party  behind  were  at  dinner.  The  first 
thing  they  knew  was  the  sudden  jerk  which 
came  from  reversing  the  engine  at  full  speed, 
and  the  grind  as  the  wheels  slid  along  under 
the  brakes.  Then  they  stopped  with  a  bump 
which  jerked  them  out  of  their  seats,  set  the 


176  "UCTJV    TO   SEED." 

lamps  to  swinging,  and  sent  the  things  on  the 
table  crashing  on  the  floor.  No  one  was  hurt, 
only  shaken,  and  they  crowded  out  of  the  car 
to  learn  the  cause.  They  found  it.  The  en 
gine  was  half  buried  in  wet  earth  on  the  other 
side  of  the  little  washout,  with  the  tender 
jammed  up  into  the  cab.  The  whole  was 
wrapped  in  a  dense  cloud  of  escaping  steam. 
The  roar  was  terrific.  The  big  engineer, 
bare-headed  and  covered  with  mud,  and  with 
his  face  deadly  white,  was  trying  to  get 
down  to  the  engine.  Some  one  was  in 
there. 

They  got  him  out  after  a  while  (but  it  took 
some  time),  and  laid  him  on  the  ground,  while 
a  mattress  was  got.  It  was  Jim. 

Carry  had  been  weeping  and  praying.  She 
sat  down  and  took  his  head  in  her  lap,  and 
with  her  lace  handkerchief  wiped  his  black 
ened  and  bleeding  face,  and  smoothed  his 
wet  hair. 

The  newspaper  accounts,  which  are  always 
reflections  of  what  public  sentiment  is,  or 
should  be,  spoke  of  it  —  some,  as  "  a  providen 
tial  "  —  others,  as  "  a  miraculous  "  —  and  yet 
others  as  "a  fortunate"  escape  on  the  part 


"  E  UN    TO   SEED."  177 

of  the  President  and  the  Direcf  ors  of  the  road, 
according  to  the  tendencies,  religious  or  other 
wise,  of  their  paragraphists. 

They  mentioned  casually  that  "only  one 
person  was  hurt  —  an  employee,  name  not  as 
certained."  And  one  or  two  had  some  gush 
about  the  devotion  of  the  beautiful  young 
lady,  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  directors  of 
the  road,  who  happened  to  be  on  the  train, 
and  who,  "  like  a  ministering  angel,  held  the 
head  of  the  wounded  man  in  her  lap  after  he 
was  taken  from  the  wreck."  A  good  deal 
was  made  of  this  picture,  which  was  exten 
sively  copied. 

Dick  Rail's  account,  after  he  had  come  back 
from  carrying  the  broken  body  down  to  the 
old  Upton  place  in  the  country,  and  helping 
to  lay  it  away  in  the  old  enclosure  under  the 
big  trees  on  the  hill,  was  this : 

u  By \  »  he  said,  when  he  stood  in  the 

yard,  with  a  solemn-faced  group  around  him, 
"  we  were  late,  and  I  was  just  shaking  'em 
up.  I  had  been  meaner'n  hell  to  Jim  all  the 
trip  (I  didn't  know  him,  and  you  all  didn't 
neither),  and  I  was  work  in'  him  for  all  he  was 
worth:  I  didn't  give  him  a  minute.  The 
sweat  was  rolling  off  him,  and  I  was  damnin' 


178  "HUN   TO   SEED." 

him  with  every  shovelful.  We  was  runnin' 
under  orders  to  make  up,  and  we  was  just 
rounding  the  curve  this  side  of  Ridge  Hill, 
when  Jim  hollered.  He  saw  it  as  he  raised 
up  with  the  shovel  in  his  hand  to  wipe  the 
sweat  off  his  face,  and  he  hollered  to  me, '  My 
God  !  Look,  Dick  !  Jump  ! ' 

"  I  looked  and  Hell  was  right  there.  He 
caught  the  lever  and  reversed,  and  put  on 
the  air  and  sand  before  I  saw  it,  and  then 
grabbed  me,  and  flung  me  clean  out  of  the 
cab:  'Jump!'  he  says,  as  he  give  me  a  swing. 
I  jumped,  expectin'  of  course  he  was  comin' 
too ;  and  as  I  lit,  I  saw  him  turn  and  catch 
the  lever.  The  old  engine  was  jumpin'  nigh 
off  the  track.  But  she  was  too  near.  In  she 
went,  and  the  tender  right  on  her.  You  may 

talk  about  his  eyes  bein'  bad;  but  by ! 

when  he  gave  me  that  swing,  they  looked  to 
me  like  coals  of  fire.  When  we  got  him  out 
'twarn't  Jim !  He  warn't  nothin'  but  mud 
and  ashes.  He  warn't  quite  dead;  opened 
his  eyes,  and  breathed  onct  or  twict;  but  I 
don't  think  he  knew  anything,  he  was  so 
mashed  up.  We  laid  him  out  on  the  grass, 
and  that  young  lady  took  his  head  in  her  lap 
and  cried  over  him  (she  had  come  and  seed 


"  1WN    TO    SEED."  179 

him  in  the  engine),  and  said  she  knew  his 
mother  and  sister  down  in  the  country  (she 
used  to  live  down  there)  ;  they  was  gentle 
folks  ;  that  Jim  was  all  they  had.  And  when 
one  of  them  old  director-fellows  who  had  been 
swilling  himself  behind  there  come  aroun', 
with  his  kid  gloves  on  and  his  hands  in  his 
great-coat  pockets,  lookin'  down,  and  say  in' 
something  about,  '  Poor  fellow,  couldn't  he 
'a  jumped  ?  Why  didn't  he  jump  ? '  I  let  him 
have  it;  I  said,  '  Yes,  arid  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
him,  you  and  I'd  both  been  frizzin'  in  h — 1 
this  minute.'  And  the  President  standin' 
there  said  to  some  of  them,  '  That  was  the 
same  young  fellow  who  came  into  my  office 
to  get  a  place  last  year  when  you  were  down, 
and  said  he  had  "  run  to  seed."  4  But,'  he 

says, 4  Gentlemen,  it  was  d d  good  seed ! ' ' 

How  good  it  was   no  one   knew  but  two 
weeping  women  in  a  lonely  house. 


A  SOLDIER  OF  THE  EMPIRE." 


IT  was  his  greatest  pride  in  life  that  he 
had  been  a  soldier  —  a  soldier  of  the  empire. 
He  was  known  simply  as  "  The  Soldier,"  and 
it  is  probable  that  there  was  not  a  man  or 
woman,  and  certain  that  there  was  not  a  child 
in  the  Quarter  who  did  not  know  him :  the 
tall,  erect  old  Sergeant  with  his  white,  care 
fully  waxed  moustache,  and  his  face  seamed 
with  two  sabre  cuts.  One  of  these  cuts,  all 
knew,  had  been  received  the  summer  day 
when  he  had  stood,  a  mere  boy,  in  the  hollow 
square  at  Waterloo,  striving  to  stay  the  fierce 
flood  of  the  "men  on  the  white  horses";  the 
other,  tradition  said,  was  of  even  more  ancient 
date. 

Yes,  they  all  knew  him,  and  knew  how 
when  he  was  not  over  thirteen,  just  the  age 
of  little  Raoul  the  humpback,  who  was  not 
as  tall  as  Pauline,  he  had  received  the  cross 
which  he  always  wore  over  his  heart  sewed 
in  the  breast  of  his  coat,  from  the  hand  of 

180 


"A   SOLDIER   OF  THE  EMPIRE."       181 

the  emperor  himself,  for  standing  on  the  hill 
at  Wag-ram  when  his  regiment  broke,  and 
beating  the  long-roll,  whilst  he  held  the 
tattered  colors  resting  in  his  arm,  until  the 
men  rallied  and  swept  back  the  left  wing  of 
the  enemy.  This  the  children  knew,  as  their 
fathers  and  mothers  and  grandfathers  and 
grandmothers  before  them  had  known  it,  and 
rarely  an  evening  passed  that  some  of  the 
gamins  were  not  to  be  found  in  the  old  man's 
kitchen,  which  was  also  his  parlor,  or  else 
on  his  little  porch,  listening  with  ever-new 
delight  to  the  story  of  his  battles  and  of  the 
emperor.  They  all  knew  as  well  as  he  the 
thrilling  part  where  the  emperor  clashed  by 
(the  old  Sergeant  always  rose  reverently  at 
the  name,  and  the  little  audience  also  stood, 

—  one  or  two  nervous  younger  ones  some 
times  bobbing  up  a  little  ahead  of  time,  but 
sitting  down  again  in  confusion  under  the 
contemptuous   scowls   and   pluckings  of  the 
rest), —  where   the  emperor  dashed  by,  and 
reined   up  to  ask  an  officer  what  regiment 
that  was  that  had  broken,  and  wrho  was  that 
drummer  that  had  been  promoted  to  ensign  ; 

—  they  all  knew  how,  on  the  grand  review 
afterwards,   the  Sergeant,  beating  his  drum 


182       "A    SOLDIER   OF  THE  EMPIRE." 

with  one  hand  (while  the  other,  which  had 
been  broken  by  a  bullet,  was  in  a  sling),  had 
marched  with  his  company  before  the  emperor, 
and  had  been  recognized  by  him.  They  knew 
how  he  had  been  called  up  by  a  staff-officer 
(whom  the  children  imagined  to  be  a  fine 
gentleman  with  a  rich  uniform,  and  a  great 
shako  like  Marie's  uncle,  the  drum-major), 
and  how  the  emperor  had  taken  from  his  own 
breast  and  with  his  own  hand  had  given  him 
the  cross,  which  he  had  never  from  that  day 
removed  from  his  heart,  and  had  said,  "I 
would  make  you  a  colonel  if  I  could  spare 
you." 

This  was  the  story  they  liked  best,  though 
there  were  many  others  which  they  fre 
quently  begged  to  be  told  —  of  march  and 
siege  and  battle,  of  victories  over  or  escapes 
from  red-coated  Britishers  and  fierce  German 
lancers,  and  of  how  the  mere  presence  of  the 
emperor  was  worth  fifty  thousand  men,  and 
how  the  soldiers  knew  that  where  he  was  no 
eneni}^  could  withstand  them.  It  all  seemed 
to  them  very  long  ago,  and  the  soldier  of  the 
empire  was  the  only  man  in  the  Quarter  who 
was  felt  to  be  greater  than  the  rich  nobles 
and  fine  officers  who  flashed  along  the  great 


"A   SOLDIER   OF  THE  EMPIRE."       183 

streets,  or  glittered  through  the  boulevards 
and  parks  outside.  More  than  once  when 
Paris  was  stirred  up,  and  the  Quarter  seemed 
on  the  eve  of  an  outbreak,  a  mounted  or 
derly  had  galloped  up  to  his  door  with  a 
letter,  requesting  his  presence  somewhere  (it 
was  whispered  at  the  prefect's),  and  when 
he  returned,  if  he  refused  to  speak  of  his 
visit  the  Quarter  was  satisfied ;  it  trusted 
him  and  knew  that  when  he  advised  quiet  it 
was  for  its  good.  He  loved  France  first,  the 
Quarter  next.  Had  he  not  been  offered  —  ? 
What  had  he  not  been  offered !  The  Quarter 
knew,  or  fancied  it  knew,  which  did  quite  as 
well.  At  least,  it  knew  how  he  always  took 
sides  with  the  Quarter  against  oppression. 
It  knew  how  he  had  gone  up  into  the  burning 
tenement  and  brought  the  children  down  out 
of  the  garret  just  before  the  roof  fell.  It 
knew  how  he  had  jumped  into  the  river  that 
winter  when  it  was  full  of  ice,  to  save  Raoul's 
little  lame  dog  which  had  fallen  into  the 
water ;  it  knew  how  he  had  reported  the  gen 
darmes  for  arresting  poor  little  Aime'e  just 
for  begging  a  man  in  the  Place  de  L'Opera 
for  a  franc  for  her  old  grandmother,  who  was 
blind,  and  how  he  had  her  released  instead 


184      "A    SOLDIER   OF  THE  EMPIRE.'1 

of  being  sent  to .  But  what  was  the 

need  of  multiplying  instances  !  He  was  "  the 
Sergeant,"  a  soldier  of  the  empire,  and  there 
was  not  a  dog  in  the  Quarter  which  did  not 
feel  and  look  proud  when  it  could  trot  on  the 
inside  of  the  sidewalk  by  him. 

Thus  the  old  Sergeant  came  to  be  regarded 
as  the  conservator  of  order  in  the  Quarter, 
and  was  worth  more  in  the  way  of  keeping  it 
quiet  than  all  the  gendarmes  that  ever  came 
inside  its  precincts.  And  thus  the  children 
all  knew  him. 

One  story  that  the  Sergeant  sometimes 
told,  the  girls  liked  to  hear,  though  the  boys 
did  not,  because  it  had  nothing  about  war  in 
it,  and  Minette  and  Clarisse  used  to  cry  so 
when  it  was  told,  that  the  Sergeant  would 
stop  and  put  his  arms  around  them  and  pet 
them  until  they  only  sobbed  on  his  shoulder. 

It  was  of  how  he  had,  when  a  lonely  old 
man,  met  down  in  Lorraine  his  little  Camille, 
whose  eyes  were  as  blue  as  the  sky,  and  her 
hand  as  white  as  the  flower  from  which  she 
took  her  name,  and  her  cheeks  as  pink  as  the 
roses  in  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries.  He 
had  loved  her,  and  she,  though  forty  years 
his  junior,  had  married  him  and  had  come 


"A   SOLDIER   OF  THE  EMPIRE."       185 

here  to  live  with  him  ;  but  the  close  walls  of 
the  city  had  not  suited  her,  and  she  had  pined 
and  languished  hefore  his  eyes  like  a  plucked 
lily,  and,  after  she  bore  him  Pierre,  had  died 
in  his  arms,  and  left  him  lonelier  than  before. 
And  the  old  soldier  always  lowered  his  voice 
and  paused  a  moment  (Raoul  said  he  was 
saying  a  mass),  and  then  he  would  add  con 
solingly  :  "  But  she  left  a  soldier,  and  when 
I  am  gone,  should  France  ever  need  one, 
Pierre  will  be  here."  The  boys  did  not 
fancy  this  story  for  the  reasons  given,  and  be 
sides,  although  they  loved  the  Sergeant,  they 
did  not  like  Pierre.  Pierre  was  not  popular 
in  the  Quarter,  —  except  with  the  young  girls 
and  a  few  special  friends.  The  women  said 
he  was  idle  and  vain  like  his  mother,  who  had 
been,  they  said,  a  silly  lazy  thing  with  little 
to  boast  of  but  blue  eyes  and  a  white  skin, 
of  which  she  was  too  proud  to  endanger  it 
by  work,  and  that  she  had  married  the  Ser 
geant  for  his  pension,  and  would  have  ruined 
him  if  she  had  lived,  and  that  Pierre  was  just 
like  her. 

The  children  knew  nothing  of  the  resem 
blance.  They  disliked  Pierre  because  he 
was  cross  and  disagreeable  to  them,  and  how- 


186       "A   SOLDIER   OF  THE  EMPIRE." 

ever  their  older  sisters  might  admire  his  curl 
ing  brown  hair,  his  dark  eyes,  and  delicate  fea 
tures,  which  he  had  likewise  inherited  from 
his  mother,  they  did  not  like  him ;  for  he  al 
ways  scolded  when  he  came  home  and  found 
them  th°,re ;  and  he  had  several  times  ordered 
the  whole  lot  out  of  the  house ;  and  once 
he  had  slapped  little  Raoul,  for  which  Jean 
Maison  had  beaten  him.  Of  late,  too,  when 
it  drew  near  the  hour  for  him  to  come  home, 
the  old  Sergeant  had  two  or  three  times  left 
out  a  part  of  his  story,  and  had  told  them  to 
run  away  and  come  back  in  the  morning,  as 
Pierre  liked  to  be  quiet  when  he  came  from 
his  work  —  which  Raoul  said  was  gambling. 

Thus  it  was  that  Pierre  was  not  popular  in 
the  Quarter. 

He  was  nineteen  years  old  when  war  was 
declared. 

They  said  Prussia  was  trying  to  rob  France, 
—  to  steal  Alsace  and  Lorraine.  All  Paris 
was  in  an  uproar.  The  Quarter,  always  ripe 
for  any  excitement,  shared  in  and  enjoyed 
the  general  commotion.  It  struck  off  from 
work.  It  was  like  the  commune  ;  at  least,  so 
people  said.  Pierre  was  the  loudest  declaimer 
in  the  district.  He  got  work  in  the  armory. 


"A   SOLDIER    OF  THE  EMPIRE."       187 

Recruiting  officers  went  in  and  out  of  the 
saloons  and  cafds,  drinking  with  the  men, 
talking  to  the  women,  and  stirring  up  as 
much  fervor  as  possible.  It  needed  little  to 
stir  it.  The  Quarter  was  seething.  Troops 
were  being  mustered  in,  and  the  streets  and 
parks  were  filled  with  the  tramp  of  regiments  ; 
and  the  roll  of  the  drums,  the  call  of  the  bugles, 
and  the  cheers  of  the  crowds  as  they  marched 
by  floated  into  the  Quarter.  Brass  bands 
were  so  common  that  although  in  the  winter 
a  couple  of  strolling  musicians  had  been  suffi 
cient  to  lose  temporarily  every  child  in  the 
Quarter,  it  now  required  a  full  band  and  a 
grenadier  regiment,  to  boot,  to  draw  a  toler 
able  representation. 

Of  all  the  residents  of  the  Quarter,  none 
took  a  deeper  interest  than  the  soldier  of 
the  empire.  He  became  at  once  an  object 
of  more  than  usual  attention.  He  had  mar 
ried  in  Lorraine,  and  could,  of  course,  tell  just 
how  long  it  would  take  to  whip  the  Prussians. 
He  thought  a  single  battle  would  decide  it. 
It  would  if  the  emperor  were  there.  His 
little  court  was  always  full  of  inquirers,  and 
the  stories  of  the  emperor  were  told  to  audi 
ences  now  of  grandfathers  and  grandmothers. 


188       "A   SOLDIER    OF  THE  EMPIRE." 

Once  or  twice  the  gendarmes  had  sauntered 
down,  thinking,  from  seeing  the  crowd,  that 
a  fight  was  going  on.  They  had  stayed  to 
hear  of  the  emperor.  A  hint  was  dropped  by 
the  soldier  of  the  empire  that  perhaps  France 
would  conquer  Prussia,  and  then  go  on  across 
to  Moscow  to  settle  an  old  score,  and  that 
night  it  was  circulated  through  the  Quarter 
that  the  invasion  of  Russia  would  follow  the 
capture  of  Berlin.  The  emperor  became 
more  popular  than  he  had  been  since  the 
coup  d'etat.  Half  the  Quarter  offered  its 
services. 

The  troops  were  being  drilled  night  and 
day,  and  morning  after  morning  the  soldier 
of  the  empire  locked  his  door,  buttoned  his 
coat  tightly  around  him,  and  with  a  stately 
military  air  marched  over  to  the  park  to 
see  the  drill,  where  he  remained  until  it  was 
time  for  Pierre  to  have  his  supper. 

The  old  Sergeant's  acquaintance  extended 
far  beyond  the  Quarter.  Indeed,  his  name  had 
been  mentioned  in  the  papers  more  than  once, 
and  his  presence  was  noted  at  the  drill  by 
those  high  in  authority ;  so  that  he  was  often 
to  be  seen  surrounded  by  a  group  listening  to 
his  accounts  of  the  emperor,  or  showing  what 


"A   SOLDIER   OF  THE  EMPIRE."       189 

the  manuel  had  been  in  his  time.  His  air, 
always  soldierly,  was  now  imposing,  and  many 
a  visitor  of  distinction  inquiring  who  he  might 
be,  and  learning  that  he  was  a  soldier  of  the 
empire,  sought  an  introduction  to  him.  Some 
times  they  told  him  that  they  could  hardly 
believe  him  so  old,  could  hardly  believe  him 
much  older  than  some  of  those  in  the  ranks, 
and  although  at  first  he  used  to  declare  he 
was  like  a  rusty  flint-lock,  too  old  and  useless 
for  service,  their  flattery  soothed  his  vanity, 
and  after  a  while,  instead  of  shaking  his  head 
and  replying  as  he  did  at  first  that  France  had 
no  use  for  old  men,  he  would  smile  doubt 
fully  and  say  that  when  they  let  Pierre  go, 
maybe  he  would  go  too,  "just  to  show  the 
children  how  they  fought  then." 

The  summer  came.  The  war  began  in 
earnest.  The  troops  were  sent  to  the  front, 
the  crowds  shouting,  "  On  to  Berlin."  Others 
were  mustered  in  and  sent  after  them  as  fast 
as  they  were  equipped.  News  of  battle  after 
battle  came  ;  at  first,  of  victory  (so  the  papers 
said),  full  and  satisfying,  then  meagre  and 
uncertain,  and  at  last  so  scanty  that  only 
the  wise  ones  knew  there  had  been  a  defeat. 
The  Quarter  was  in  a  fever  of  patriotism. 


190       "A   SOLDIER   OF  THE  EMPIRE." 

Jean  Maison  and  nearly  all  the  young  men 
had  enlisted  and  gone,  leaving  their  sweet 
hearts  by  turns  waving  their  kerchiefs  and 
wiping  their  eyes  with  them.  Pierre,  how 
ever,  still  remained  behind.  He  said  he  was 
working  for  the  Government.  Kaoul  said 
he  was  not  working  at  all ;  that  he  was 
skulking. 

Suddenly  the  levy  came.  Pierre  was  con 
scripted. 

That  night  the  Sergeant  enlisted  in  the  same 
company.  Before  the  week  was  out,  their  reg 
iment  was  equipped  and  dispatched  to  the 
front,  for  the  news  came  that  the  army  was 
making  no  advance,  and  it  was  said  that 
France  needed  more  men.  Some  shook  their 
heads  and  said  that  was  not  what  she  needed, 
that  what  she  needed  was  better  officers.  A 
suggestion  of  this  by  some  of  the  recruits  in 
the  old  Sergeant's  presence  drew  from  him 
the  rebuke  that  in  his  day  "such  a  speech 
would  have  called  out  a  corporal  and  a  file  of 
grenadiers." 

The  day  they  were  mustered  in,  the  captain 
of  the  company  sent  for  him  and  bade  him 
have  the  first  sergeant's  chevrons  sewed  on  his 
sleeve.  The  order  had  come  from  the  colonel, 


"A   SOLDIER    OF  THE  EMPIRE."       191 

some  even  said  from  the  marshal.  In  the 
Quarter  it  was  said  that  it  came  from  the 
emperor.  The  Sergeant  suggested  that  Pierre 
was  the  man  for  the  place ;  but  the  captain 
simply  repeated  the  order.  The  Quarter 
approved  the  selection,  and  several  fights 
occurred  among  the  children  who  had  gotten 
up  a  company  as  to  who  should  be  the  ser 
geant.  It  was  deemed  more  honorable  than 
to  be  the  captain. 

The  day  the  regiment  left  Paris,  the  Ser 
geant  was  ordered  to  report  several  reliable 
men  for  special  duty ;  he  detailed  Pierre  among 
the  number.  Pierre  was  sick,  so  sick  that 
when  the  company  started  he  would  have  been 
left  behind  but  for  his  father.  The  old  soldier 
was  too  proud  of  his  son  to  allow  him  to  miss 
the  opportunity  of  fighting  for  France.  Pierre 
was  the  handsomest  man  in  the  regiment. 

The  new  levies  on  arrival  in  the  field  went 
into  camp,  in  and  near  some  villages  and 
were  drilled,  —  quite  needlessly,  Pierre  and 
some  of  the  others  declared.  They  were 
not  accustomed  to  restraint,  and  they  could 
riot  see  why  they  should  be  worked  to  death 
when  they  were  lying  in  camp  doing  nothing. 
But  the  soldier  of  the  empire  was  a  strict  drill- 


192       "A    SOLDIER   OF  THE  EMPIRE." 

master,  and  the  company  was  shortly  the  best- 
drilled  one  in  the  regiment. 

Yet  the  army  lay  still :  they  were  not 
marching  on  to  Berlin.  The  sole  principle 
of  the  campaign  seemed  to  be  the  massing 
together  of  as  many  troops  as  possible.  What 
they  were  to  do  no  one  appeared  very  clearly 
to  know.  What  they  were  doing  all  knew  : 
they  were  doing  nothing.  The  men,  at  first 
burning  for  battle,  became  cold  or  lukewarm 
with  waiting;  dissatisfaction  crept  in,  and 
then  murmurs :  "  Why  did  they  not  fight  ?  " 
The  soldier  of  the  empire  himself  was  sorely 
puzzled.  The  art  of  war  had  clearly  changed 
since  his  day.  The  emperor  would  have 
picked  the  best  third  of  these  troops  and  have 
been  at  the  gates  of  the  Prussian  capital  in 
less  time  than  they  had  spent  camped  with 
the  enemy  right  before  them.  Still,  it  was 
not  for  a  soldier  to  question,  and  he  reported 
for  a  week's  extra  guard  duty  a  man  who 
ventured  to  complain  in  his  presence  that  the 
marshal  knew  as  little  as  the  men.  Extra 
guard  duty  did  no  good.  The  army  was 
losing  heart. 

Thus  it  was  for  several  weeks.      But  at 
last,  one  evening,  it  was  apparent  that  some 


"A    SOLDIER    OF  THE  EMPIRE."       193 

change  was  at  hand:  the  army  stirred  and 
shook  itself  as  a  great  animal  moves  and 
stretches,  not  knowing  if  it  will  awake  or 
drop  off  to  sleep  again. 

During  the  night  it  became  wide  awake. 
It  was  high  time.  The  Prussians  were  almost 
on  them.  They  had  them  in  a  trap.  They 
held  the  higher  grounds  and  hemmed  the 
French  in.  All  night  long  the  tents  were 
being  struck,  and  the  army  was  in  commo 
tion.  No  one  knew  just  why  it  was.  Some 
said  they  were  about  to  be  attacked ;  some 
said  they  were  surrounded.  Uncertainty  gave 
place  to  excitement.  At  length  they  marched. 

When  day  began  to  break,  the  army  had 
been  tumbled  into  line  of  battle,  and  the  regi 
ment  in  which  the  old  Sergeant  and  Pierre 
were  was  drawn  up  on  the  edge  of  a  gen 
tleman's  park  outside  of  the  villages.  The 
line  extended  beyond  them  farther  than  they 
could  see,  and  large  bodies  of  troops  were 
massed  behind  them,  and  were  marching  and 
countermarching  in  clouds  of  dust.  The  rumor 
went  along  the  ranks  that  they  were  in  the  ad 
vanced  line,  and  that  the  Germans  were  just  the 
other  side  of  the  little  plateau,  which  they  could 
dimly  see  in  the  gray  light  of  the  dawn.  The 


194       "A    SOLDIER    OF  THE  EMPIRE." 

men,  having  been  marching  in  the  dark,  were 
tired,  and  most  of  them  lay  down,  when  they 
were  halted,  to  rest.  Some  went  to  sleep ; 
others,  like  Pierre,  set  to  work  and  with  their 
bayonets  dug  little  trenches  and  threw  up  a 
slight  earthwork  before  them,  behind  which 
they  could  lie ;  for  the  skirmishers  had  been 
thrown  out,  looking  vague  and  ghostly  as 
they  trotted  forward  in  the  dim  twilight, 
and  they  supposed  that  the  battle  would  be 
fought  right  there.  By  the  time,  however, 
that  the  trenches  were  dug,  the  line  was 
advanced,  and  the  regiment  was  moved  for 
ward  some  distance,  and  was  halted  just 
under  a  knoll  along  which  ran  a  road.  The 
Sergeant  was  the  youngest  man  in  the  com 
pany  ;  the  sound  of  battle  had  brought  back 
all  his  fire.  To  him  numbers  were  nothing. 
He  thought  it  now  but  a  matter  of  a  few 
hours,  and  France  would  be  at  the  gates  of 
Berlin.  He  saw  once  more  the  field  of  glory 
and  heard  again  the  shout  of  victory ;  Lorraine 
would  be  saved ;  he  beheld  the  tricolor  floating 
over  the  capital  of  the  enemies  of  France.  Per 
haps,  it  would  be  planted  there  by  Pierre.  And 
he  saw  in  his  imagination  Pierre  climbing  at  a 
stride  from  a  private  to  a  captain,  a  colonel, 


"J.    SOLDIER    OF  THE  EMPIRE."     195 

a  — !  who  could  tell  ?  —  had  not  the  baton  been 
won  in  a  campaign  ?  As  to  dreaming  that  a 
battle  could  bring  any  other  result  than  vic 
tory  !  —  It  was  impossible ! 

"Where  are  you  going?"  shouted  deri 
sively  the  men  of  a  regiment  at  rest,  to  the 
Sergeant's  command  as  they  marched  past. 

"  To  Berlin,"  replied  the  Sergeant. 

The  reply  evoked  cheers,  and  that  regi 
ment  that  day  stood  its  ground  until  a  fourth 
of  its  men  fell.  The  old  soldier's  enthusiasm 
infected  the  new  recruits,  who  were  pale  and 
nervous  under  the  strain  of  waiting.  His 
eye  rested  on  Pierre,  who  was  standing  down 
near  the  other  end  of  the  company,  and  the 
father's  face  beamed  as  he  thought  he  saw 
there  resolution  and  impatience  for  the  fight. 
Ha !  France  should  ring  with  his  name ;  the 
Quarter  should  go  wild  with  delight. 

Just  then  the  skirmishers  ahead  began  to 
fire,  and  in  a  few  moments  it  was  answered 
by  a  sullen  note  from  the  villages  beyond  the 
plain,  and  the  battle  had  begun.  The  drop 
ping  fire  of  the  skirmish  line  increased  and 
merged  into  a  rattle,  and  suddenly  the  thun 
der  broke  from  a  hill  to  their  right,  and  ran 
along  the  crest  until  the  earth  trembled  under 


196       "A    SOLDIER   OF  THE  EMPIRE." 

their  feet.  Bullets  began  to  whistle  over 
their  heads  and  clip  the  leaves  of  the  trees 
beyond  them,  and  the  long,  pulsating  scream 
of  shells  flying  over  them  and  exploding  in 
the  park  behind  them  made  the  faces  of  the 
men  look  gray  in  the  morning  twilight. 
Waiting  was  worse  than  fighting.  It  told  on 
the  young  men. 

In  a  little  while  a  staff-officer  galloped  up 
to  the  colonel,  who  was  sitting  on  his  horse 
in  the  road,  quietly  smoking  a  cigar,  and  a 
moment  later  the  whole  line  was  in  motion. 
They  were  wheeled  to  the  right,  and  marched 
under  shelter  of  the  knoll  in  the  direction 
of  the  firing.  As  they  passed  the  turn  of  the 
road,  they  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  hill  ahead 
where  the  artillery,  enveloped  in  smoke,  was 
thundering  from  an  ever-thickening  cloud. 
A  battery  of  eight  guns  galloped  past  them, 
and  turning  the  curve  disappeared  in  a  cloud 
of  dust.  To  the  new  recruits  it  seemed  as 
if  the  whole  battle  was  being  fought  right 
there.  They  could  see  nothing  but  their 
own  line,  and  only  a  part  of  that ;  smoke  and 
dust  hid  everything  else ;  but  the  hill  was 
plainly  an  important  point,  for  they  were 
being  pushed  forward,  and  the  firing  on  the 


"  A   SOLDIER   OF  THE  EMPIRE."      197 

rise  ahead  of  them  was  terrific.  They  were 
still  partly  protected  by  the  ridge,  but  shells 
were  screaming  over  them,  and  the  earth 
was  rocking  under  their  feet.  More  batteries 
came  thundering  by,  — the  men  clinging  to 
the  pieces  and  the  drivers  lashing  their  horses 
furiously,  —  and  disappearing  into  the  smoke 
on  the  hill,  unlimbered  and  swelled  the  deaf 
ening  roar;  they  passed  men  lying  on  the 
ground  dead  or  wounded,  or  were  passed  by 
others  helping  wounded  comrades  to  the  rear. 
Several  men  in  the  company  fell,  some  crying 
out  or  groaning  with  pain,  and  two  or  three 
killed  outright. 

The  men  were  dodging  and  twisting,  with 
heads  bent  forward  a  little  as  if  in  a  pelting 
rain.  Only  the  old  Sergeant  and  some  of- 
the  younger  ones  were  perfectly  erect. 

"  Why  don't  you  dodge  the  balls  ?  "  asked 
a  recruit  of  the  Sergeant. 

"A  soldier  of  the  empire  never  dodges," 
was  the  proud  reply. 

Some  change  occurred  on  the  hills;  they 
could  not  see  what.  Just  then  the  order 
came  down  the  line  to  advance  at  a  double- 
quick  and  support  the  batteries.  They  moved 
forward  at  a  run  and  passed  beyond  the  shel- 


198       "A    SOLDIER    OF  THE  EMPIRE." 

ter  of  the  ridge.  Instantly  they  were  in 
the  line  of  fire  from  the  Prussian  batteries, 
whose  white  puffs  of  smoke  were  visible 
across  the  plain,  and  bullets  and  shell  tore 
wide  spaces  in  their  ranks.  They  could  not 
see  the  infantrymen,  who  were  in  pits,  but  the 
bullets  hissed  and  whistled  by  them.  The 
men  on  both  sides  of  Pierre  were  killed  and 
fell  forward  on  their  faces  with  a  thud,  one 
of  them  still  clutching  his  musket.  Pierre 
would  have  stopped,  but  there  was  no  time, 
the  men  in  the  rear  pressed  him  on.  As  they 
appeared  in  the  smoke  of  the  nearest  battery, 
the  artillerymen  broke  into  cheers  at  the  wel 
come  sight,  and  all  down  the  line  it  was  taken 
up.  All  around  were  dead  and  dying  men 
increasing  in  numbers  momentarily.  No  one 
had  time  to  notice  them.  Some  of  them  had 
blankets  thrown  over  them.  The  infantry, 
who  were  a  little  to  the  side  of  the  batteries, 
were  ordered  to  lie  down ;  most  of  them  had 
already  done  so ;  even  then  they  were  barely 
protected  ;  shot  and  shell  ploughed  the  ground 
around  them  as  if  it  had  been  a  fallow  field ; 
men  spoke  to  their  comrades,  and  before  re 
ceiving  a  reply  were  shot  dead  at  their  sides. 
The  wounded  were  more  ghastly  than  the 


"J.   SOLDIER   OF  THE  EMPIRE."      199 

dead;  their  faces  growing  suddenly  deadly 
white  from  the  shock  as  they  were  struck. 

The  gunners  lay  in  piles  around  their  guns, 
and  still  the  survivors  worked  furiously  in 
the  dense  heat  and  smoke,  the  sweat  pouring 
down  their  blackened  faces.  The  fire  was 
terrific. 

Suddenly  an  officer  galloped  up,  and  spoke 
to  the  lieutenant  of  the  nearest  battery. 

"  Where  is  the  colonel  ?  " 

"  Killed." 

"  Where  is  your  captain?" 

"  Dead,  there  under  the  gun." 

"Are  you  in  command?  " 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  Well,  hold  this  hill." 

"  How  long  ?  " 

"  Forever."     And  he  galloped  off. 

His  voice  was  heard  clear  and  ringing  in  a 
sudden  lull,  and  the  old  Sergeant,  clutching 
his  musket,  shouted : 

"We  will,  forever." 

There  was  a  momentary  lull. 

Suddenly  the  cry  was  : 

"  Here  they  are." 

In  an  instant  a  dark  line  of  men  appeared 
coming  up  the  slope.  The  guns  were  trained 


200       "A    SOLDIER    OF  THE  EMPIRE." 

down  on  them,  but  shot  over  their  heads; 
they  were  double  shotted  and  trained  lower, 
and  belched  forth  canister.  They  fell  in 
swathes,  yet  still  they  came  on  at  a  run, 
hurrahing,  until  they  were  almost  up  among 
the  guns,  and  the  gunners  were  leaving  their 
pieces.  The  old  Sergeant's  voice  speaking  to 
his  men  was  as  steady  as  if  on  parade,  and 
kept  them  down,  and  when  the  command  was 
given  to  fire  kneeling,  they  rose  as  one  man, 
and  poured  a  volley  into  the  Germans'  faces 
which  sent  them  reeling  back  down  the  hill, 
leaving  a  broken  line  of  dead  and  struggling 
men  on  the  deadly  crest.  Just  then  a  brigade 
officer  came  along.  They  heard  him  say, 
"That  repulse  may  stop  them."  Then  he 
gave  some  order  in  an  undertone  to  the 
lieutenant  in  command  of  the  batteries,  and 
passed  on.  A  moment  later  the  fire  from  the 
Prussian  batteries  was  heavier  than  before ; 
the  guns  were  being  knocked  to  pieces.  A 
piece  of  shell  struck  the  Sergeant  on  the 
cheek,  tearing  away  the  flesh  badly.  He 
tore  the  sleeve  from  his  shirt  and  tied  it 
around  his  head  with  perfect  unconcern.  The 
fire  of  the  Germans  was  still  growing  heavier ; 
the  smoke  was  too  dense  to  see  a  great  deal, 


"A   SOLDIER    OF  THE  EMPIRE."       201 

but  they  were  concentrating  or  were  coming 
closer.  The  lieutenant  came  back  for  a  mo 
ment  and  spoke  to  the  captain  of  the  com 
pany,  who,  looking  along  the  line,  called  the 
Sergeant,  and  ordered  him  to  go  back  down 
the  hill  to  where  the  road  turned  behind  it, 

and  tell  General to  send  them  a  support 

instantly,  as  the  batteries  were  knocked  to 
pieces,  and  they  could  not  hold  the  hill  much 
longer.  The  announcement  was  astonishing 
to  the  old  soldier ;  it  had  never  occurred 
to  him  that  as  long  as  a  man  remained  they 
could  not  hold  the  hill,  and  he  was  half-way 
down  the  slope  before  he  took  it  in.  He  had 
brought  his  gun  with  him,  and  he  clutched 
it  convulsively  as  if  he  could  withstand  alone 
the  whole  Prussian  army.  "  He  might  have 
taken  a  younger  man  to  do  his  trotting,"  he 
muttered  to  himself  as  he  stalked  along,  not 
knowing  that  his  wound  had  occasioned  his 
selection.  "  Pierre  -  "  but,  no,  Pierre  must 
stay  where  he  would  have  the  opportunity  to 
distinguish  himself. 

It  was  no  holiday  promenade  that  the  old 
soldier  was  taking;  for  his  path  lay  right 
across  the  track  swept  by  the  German  bat 
teries,  and  the  whole  distance  was  strewn 


202      "A    SOLDIER    OF  THE  EMPIRE." 

with  dead,  killed  as  they  had  advanced  in  the 
morning.  But  the  old  Sergeant  got  safely 
across.  He  found  the  General  with  one  or  two 
members  of  his  staff  sitting  on  horseback  in 
the  road  near  the  park  gate,  receiving  and  an 
swering  dispatches.  He  delivered  his  message. 

"  Go  back  and  tell  him  he  must  hold  it," 
was  the  reply.  "  Upon  it  depends  the  fate 
of  the  day;  perhaps  of  France.  Or  wait,  you 
are  wounded ;  I  will  send  some  one  else ;  you 
go  to  the  rear."  And  he  gave  the  order  to 
one  of  his  staff,  who  saluted  and  dashed  off 
on  his  horse.  "  Hold  it  for'France,"  he  called 
after  him. 

The  words  \vere  heard  perfectly  clear  even 
above  the  din  of  battle  which  was  steadily 
increasing  all  along  the  line,  and  they  stirred 
the  old  soldier  like  a  trumpet.  No  rear  for 
him  !  He  turned  and  pushed  back  up  the 
hill  at  a  run.  The  road  had  somewhat 
changed  since  he  left,  but  he  marked  it  not ; 
shot  and  shell  were  ploughing  across  his  path 
more  thickly,  but  he  did  not  heed  them;  in  his 
ears  rang  the  words  —  "  For  France."  They 
came  like  an  echo  from  the  past ;  it  was  the 
same  cry  he  had  heard  at  Waterloo,  when 
the  soldiers  of  France  that  summer  day  had 


"A    SOLDIER    OF  THE  EMPIRE."       203 

died  for  France  and  the  emperor,  with  a 
cheer  on  their  lips.  "  For  France  "  :  the 
words  were  consecrated;  the  emperor  himself 
had  used  them.  He  had  heard  him,  and 
would  have  died  then  ;  should  he  not  die 
now  for  her!  Was  it  not  glorious  to  die  for 
France,  and  have  men  say  that  he  had  fought 
for  her  when  a  babe,  and  had  died  for  her 
when  an  old  man ! 

With  these  thoughts  was  mingled  the 
thought  of  Pierre — Pierre  also  would  die 
for  France  !  They  would  save  her  or  die  to 
gether;  and  he  pressed  his  hand  with  a  proud 
caress  over  the  cross  on  his  breast.  It  was 
the  emblem  of  glory. 

He  was  almost  back  with  his  men  now; 
he  knew  it  by  the  roar,  but  the  smoke  hid 
everything.  Just  then  it  shifted  a  little. 
As  it  did  so,  he  saw  a  man  steal  out  of  the 
dim  line  and  start  towards  him  at  a  run. 
He  had  on  the  uniform  of  his  regiment. 
His  cap  was  pulled  over  his  eyes,  and  he  saw 
him  deliberately  fling  away  his  gun.  He 
was  skulking.  All  the  blood  boiled  up  in 
the  old  soldier's  veins.  Desert!  —  not  fight 
for  France  !  Why  did  not  Pierre  shoot  him  ! 
Just  then  the  coward  passed  close  to  him,  and 


204       "A   SOLDIER    OF  THE  EMPIRE." 

the  old  man  seized  him  with  a  grip  of  iron. 
The  deserter,  surprised,  turned  his  face  ;  it 
was  pallid  with  terror  and  shame  ;  but  no 
more  so  than  his  captor's.  It  was  Pierre. 

"  Pierre  !  "  he  gasped.  "  Good  God  !  where 
are  you  going  ?  " 

"  I  am  sick,"  faltered  the  other. 

"  Come  back,"  said  the  father  sternly. 

"  I  cannot,"  was  the  terrified  answer. 

"  It  is  for  France,  Pierre,"  pleaded  the  old 
soldier. 

"  Oh !  I  cannot,"  moaned  the  young  man, 
pulling  away.  There  was  a  pause  —  the  old 
man  still  holding  on  hesitatingly,  then, — 
"  Dastard  !  "  he  hissed,  flinging  his  son  from 
him  with  indescribable  scorn. 

Pierre,  free  once  more,  was  slinking  off  with 
averted  face,  when  a  new  idea  seized  his  father, 
and  his  face  grew  grim  as  stone.  Cocking 
his  musket,  he  flung  it  up,  took  careful  and 
deliberate  aim  at  his  son's  retreating  figure, 
and  brought  his  finger  slowly  down  upon  the 
trigger.  But,  before  he  could  fire,  a  shell 
exploded  directly  in  the  line  of  his  aim,  and 
when  the  smoke  blew  off,  Pierre  had  disap 
peared.  The  Sergeant  lowered  his  piece, 
gazed  curiously  down  the  hill,  and  then  hur- 


"A   SOLDIER   OF  THE  EMPIRE."       205 

ried  to  the  spot  where  the  shell  had  burst. 
A  mangled  form  marked  the  place.  The 
coward  had  in  the  very  act  of  flight  met  the 
death  he  dreaded.  Pierre  lay  dead  on  his 
face,  shot  in  the  back.  The  back  of  his 
head  was  shattered  by  a  fragment  of  shell. 
The  countenance  of  the  living  man  was  more 
pallid  than  that  of  the  dead.  No  word  escaped 
him,  except  that  refrain,  "For  France,  for 
France,"  which  he  repeated  mechanically. 

Although  this  had  occupied  but  a  few  min 
utes,  momentous  changes  had  taken  place  on 
the  ridge  above.  The  sound  of  the  battle 
had  somewhat  altered,  and  with  the  roar  of 
artillery  were  mingled  now  the  continuous 
rattle  of  the  musketry  and  the  shouts  and 
cheers  of  the  contending  troops.  The  fierce 
onslaught  of  the  Prussians  had  broken  the 
line  somewhere  beyond  the  batteries,  and  the 
French  were  being  borne  back.  Almost 
immediately  the  slope  was  filled  with  retreat 
ing  men  hurrying  back  in  the  demoralization 
of  panic.  All  order  was  lost.  It  was  a  rout. 
The  soldiers  of  his  own  regiment  began  to 
rush  by  the  spot  where  the  old  Sergeant 
stood  above  his  son's  body.  Recognizing 
him,  some  of  his  comrades  seized  his  arm  and 


206       "A    SOLDIER   OF  THE  EMPIRE." 

attempted  to  hurry  him  along;  but  with  a 
fierce  exclamation  the  old  soldier  shook  them 
off,  and  raising  his  voice  so  that  he  was 
heard  even  above  the  tumult  of  the  rout,  he 
shouted,  "  Are  ye  all  cowards  ?  Rally  for 

France  —  For  France " 

They  tried  to  bear  him  along  ;  the  officers, 
they  said,  were  dead ;  the  Prussians  had  cap 
tured  the  guns,  and  had  broken  the  whole 
line.  But  it  was  no  use  ;  still  he  shouted  that 
rallying  cry,  For  France,  for  France,  "  Vive  la 
France  ;  Vive  1'Empereur  "  ;  and  steadied  by 
the  war-cry,  and  accustomed  to  obey  an  officer, 
the  men  around  him  fell  instinctively  into 
something  like  order,  and  for  an  instant  the 
rout  was  arrested.  The  fight  was  renewed 
over  Pierre's  dead  body.  As  they  had,  how 
ever,  truly  said,  the  Prussians  were  too 
strong  for  them.  They  had  carried  the  line 
and  were  now  pouring  down  the  hill  by 
thousands  in  the  ardor  of  hot  pursuit,  the 
line  on  either  side  of  the  hill  was  swept  away, 
and  whilst  the  gallant  little  band  about  the 
old  soldier  still  stood  and  fought  desperately, 
they  were  soon  surrounded.  There  was  no 
thought  of  quarter;  none  was  asked,  none  was 
given.  Cries,  curses,  cheers,  shots,  blows, 


"A    SOLDIER   OF  THE  EMPIRE."       207 

were  mingled  together,  and  clear  above  all 
rang  the  old  soldier's  war-cry,  For  France,  for 
France,  "  Vive  la  France,  Vive  1'Empereur." 
It  was  the  refrain  from  an  older  and  bloodier 
field.  He  thought  he  was  at  Waterloo. 

Mad  with  excitement,  the  men  took  up  the 
cry,  and  fought  like  tigers  ;  but  the  issue 
could  not  be  doubtful. 

Man  after  man  fell,  shot  or  clubbed  down, 
with  the  cry  "  For  France  "  on  his  lips,  and 
his  comrades,  standing  astride  his  body, 
fought  with  bayonets  and  clubbed  muskets 
till  they  too  fell  in  turn.  Almost  the  last 
one  was  the  old  Sergeant.  Wounded  to 
death,  and  bleeding  from  numberless  gashes, 
he  still  fought,  shouting  his  battle-cry,  "  For 
France,"  till  his  musket  was  hurled  spinning 
from  his  shattered  hand,  and  staggering  sense 
less  back,  a  dozen  bayonets  were  driven  into 
his  breast,  crushing  out  forever  the  brave  spirit 
of  the  soldier  of  the  empire. 

It  was  best,  for  France  was  lost. 

A  few  hours  later  the  Quarter  was  in 
mourning  over  the  terrible  defeat. 

***** 

That  night  a  group  of  Prussian  officers  go 
ing  over  the  field  with  lanterns  looking  after 


208       "A    SOLDIER   OF  THE  EMPIRE." 

their  wounded,  stopped  near  a  spot  remark 
able  even  on  that  bloody  slope  for  the  heaps 
of  dead  of  both  armies  literally  piled  upon 
each  other. 

"It  was  just  here,"  said  one,  "that  they 
got  reinforcements  and  made  that  splendid 
rally." 

A  second,  looking  at  the  body  of  an  old 
French  sergeant  lying  amidst  heaps  of  slain, 
with  his  face  to  the  sky,  said  simply  as  he  saw 
his  scars : 

"  There  died  a  brave  soldier." 

Another,  older  than  the  first,  bending 
closer  to  count  the  bayonet  wounds,  caught 
the  gleam  of  something  in  the  light  of  the 
lantern,  and  stooping  to  examine  a  broken 
cross  of  the  Legion  on  the  dead  man's  breast, 
said  reverently : 

"  He  was  a  soldier  of  the  empire." 


Typography  by  J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.,  Boston. 
Presswork  by  Berwick  &  Smith,  Boston. 


B 


RIEF  LIST  of  Books  of  Fiction  Published 
by  Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  743-745 
Broadway,  New  York. 


William  Waldorf  Astor. 

Valentino:  An  Historical  Romance.  12010,  $1.00.  Sforza :  A 
Story  of  Milan.  I2ino,  $1.50. 

"The  story  is  full  of  clear-cut  little  tableaux  of  mediaeval  Italian 
manners,  customs  and  observances.  The  movement  throughout  is 
spirited,  the  reproduction  of  bygone  times  realistic.  Mr.  Astor  has 
written  a  romance  which  will  heighten  the  reputation  he  made  by 
'Valentino.'" — The  New  York  Tribune. 

Arlo  Bates. 

A  Wheel  of  Fire.     121110,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  The  novel  deals  with  character  rather  than  incident,  and  is  evolved 
from  one  of  the  most  terrible  of  moral  problems  with  a  subtlety  not 
unlike  that  of  Hawthorne." — The  Critic. 

Hjalmar  H.  Boyesen. 

Falconberg.  Illustrated.  i2mo,  $1.50.  Gunnar.  Sq.  i2mo, 
paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.25.  Tales  from  Two  Hemispheres. 
Sq.  i2mo,  $1.00.  Ilka  on  the  Hill  Top,  and  Other  Stories. 
Sq.  121110,  $1.00.  Queen  Titania.  Sq.  121110,  $1.00.  Social 
Strugglers.  i2mo,  $1.25. 

"Mr.  Boyesen's  stories  possess  a  sweetness,  a  tenderness  and  a 
drollery  that  are  fascinating,  and  yet  they  are  no  more  attractive  than  they 
are  strong." — The  Home  Journal. 

H.  C.  Bunner. 

The  Story  of  a  New  York  House,  Illustrated  by  A.  B.  Frost. 
i2ino,  $1.25.  The  Midge.  12010,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.00. 
Zadoc  Pine,  and  Other  Stories.  i2mo,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth, 
$1.00. 

"It  is  Mr.  Bunner's  delicacy  of  touch  and  appreciation  of  what  is 
literary  art  that  give  his  writings  distinctive  quality.  Everything  Mr. 
Bunner  paints  shows  the  happy  appreciation  of  an  author  who  has  not 
alone  mental  discernment,  but  the  artistic  appreciation.  The  author  and 
the  artist  both  supplement  one  another  in  this  excellent  'Story  of  a  Ne\* 
York  House.'" — The  New  York  limes. 


SCRIBNER'S    BRIEF    LIST   OF    FICTION. 


Frances  Hodgson  Burnett. 

That  Lass  0'  Lgwrie's.  Illustrated.  Paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $i  25. 
Haworth's.  Illustrated.  121110,  $1.25.  Through  One  Admin 
istration.  i2ino,  $1.50.  Louisiana.  121110,  $1.25.  A  Fair 
Barbarian.  121110,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.25.  Vagabondia: 
A  Love  Story.  121110,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.2=5.  Surly  Tim, 
and  Other  Stories.  12010,  $1.25.  Earlier  Stories.  First  Seiies. 
Earlier  Stories.  Second  Series.  12010,  each,  paper,  so  cts.; 
cloth,  $1.25.  The  Pretty  Sister  of  Jose.  Illustrated  by  C.  S. 
Reinhart.  I2mo,  $1.00. 

Little  Lord  Faunileroy.  Sq.  8vo,  $2.00.  Sara  Crewe.  Sq. 
8vo,  $1.00.  Little  Saint  Elizabeth,  and  Other  Stories.  12010, 
$1.50.  Illustrated  by  R.  B.  Birch. 

"  Mrs.  Burnett  discovers  gracious  secrets  in  rough  and  forbidding 
natures — the  sweetness  that  often  underlies  their  bitterness— the  soul  of 
goodness  in  things  evil.  She  seems  to  have  an  intuitive  perception  oi 
character." — RICHARD  HENRY  STODDARD. 

William  Allen  Butler. 

Domesticus.     A  Tale  of  the  Imperial  City.      121110,  $1.25. 

"  Under  a  veil  made  intentionally  transparent,  the  author  maintains  a 
running  fire  of  good-natured  hits  at  contemporary  social  follies." — Tht 
New  York  Journal  of  Commerce. 

George  W.  Cable. 

The  Grandissimes.  lamo,  paper,  so  cts.;  cloth,  $1.25.  Old 
Creole  Days.  I2mo,  cloth,  $1.25;  also  in  two  parts,  paper, 
each,  30  cts.  Dr.  Sevier.  121110,  paper,  so  cts.;  cloth,  $1.25. 
Bonaventure.  i2mo,  paper,  50  cts. ;  $1.25. 

The  set,  4  vols.,  $5.00. 

"  There  are  few  living  American  writers  who  can  reproduce  for  us  more 
perfectly  than  Mr.  Cable  does,  in  his  best  moments,  the  speech,  the 
manners,  the  whole  social  atmosphere  of  a  remote  time  and  a  peculiar 
people.  A  delicious  flavor  of  humor  penetrates  his  stories." 

—  The  New  York  Tribune. 

Rebecca  Harding  Dams. 

Silhouettes  of  American  Life.    121110,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  There  are  altogether  thirteen  stories  in  the  volume,  all  written  in  that 
direct,  forcible  style  which  is  Mrs.  Davis's  distinctive  merit  as  a  producer  of 
fiction . ' '-  -Boston  Beacon. 


SCRIBNER'5    BRIEF    LIST   OF    FICTION.  3 

Richard  Harding  Davis. 

Gallegher,  and  Other  Stones.     12010,  paper,  50  cts.  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

The  ten  stories  comprising  this  volume  attest  the  appearance  of  a  new 
and  strong  individuality  in  the  field  of  American  fiction.  They  are  of  a 
wide  range  and  deal  with  very  varied  types  of  metropolitan  character  and 
situation  ;  but  each  proves  that  Mr.  Davis  knows  his  New  York  as  well  as 
Dickens  did  his  London. 

Edward  Egg  lest  on. 

Roxy.     The  Circuit   Rider.     Illustrated.     Each,  121110,  $1.50. 

"Dr.  Eggleston's  fresh  and  vivid  portraiture  of  a  phase  of  life  and 
manners,  hitherto  almost  unrepresented  in  literature  ;  its  boldly  contrasted 
characters,  and  its  unconventional,  hearty,  religious  spirit,  took  hold  of  the 
public  imagination." — The  Christian  Union. 

Erckmann-Cbatrian . 

The  Conscript.  Illustrated.  Waterloo.  Illustrated.  Sequel  to  The 
Conscript.  Madame  Therese.  The  Blockade  of  Phalsburg. 
Illustrated.  The  Invasion  of  France  in  1814.  Illustrated.  A 
Miller's  Story  of  the  War.  Illustrated. 

The  National  Novels,  each,  $1.25  ;  the  sets,  6  vol.,  $7.50. 

Friend  Fritz.     121110,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.25. 

Eugene  Field. 

A  Little  Book  of  Profitable  Tales.     i6mo,  §1.25. 

"  This  pretty  little  volume  promises  to  perpetuate  examples  of  a  wit, 
humor,  and  pathos  quaint  and  rare  in  their  kind." — New  York  Tribune. 

Harold  Frederic. 

Seth's  Brother's  Wife.  12010,  $1.25.  The  Lawton  Girl.  i2mo, 
$1.25;  paper,  50  cts.  In  the  Valley.  Illustrated.  i2mo,  $1.50. 

"  It  is  almost  reasonable  to  assert  that  there  has  not  been  since  Cooper's 
day  a  better  American  novel  dealing  with  a  purely  historical  theme  than 
'In  the  Valley.'"— Boston  Beacon. 

James  Anthony  Froucle. 

The  Two  Chiefs  of  Dunboy.  An  Irish  Romance  of  the  Last 
Century.  121110,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.50. 

"  The  narrative  is  full  of  vigor,  spirit  and  dramatic  power.  It  will 
unquestionably  be  widely  read,  for  it  presents  a  vivid  and  life-like  study  of 
character  with  romantic  color,  and  adventurous  incident  for  the  back 
ground." —  The  Neiv  York  Tribune. 


4  SCRIBNER'S    BRIEF    LIST    OF    FICTION. 

Robert  Grant. 

Face  to  Face,  i2mo,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.25.  The  Reflec 
tions  of  a  Married  Man.  i2mo,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.00. 

11  In  the  '  Reflections,'  Mr.  Grant  has  given  us  a  capital  little  book  which 
should  easily  strike  up  literary  comradeship  with  '  The  Reveries  of  a 
Bachelor.'  "  — Boston  Transcript. 

Edward  Everett  Hale. 

Philip  Nolan's  Friends.   Illust'd.  121110,  paper,  5octs. ;  cloth, $1.50. 

"  There  is  no  question,  we  think,  that  this  is  Mr.  Male's  completest  and 
best  novel." — The  Atlantic  Monthly. 

Marion  Harland. 

Judith.  i2mo,  paper,  so  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.00.  Handicapped. 
12010,81.50.  With  the  Best  Intentions.  i2mo,  cloth,  $1.00; 
paper,  50  cts. 

"  Fiction  has  afforded  no  more  charming  glimpses  of  old  Virginia  life 
than  are  found  in  this  delightful  story,  with  its  quaint  pictures,  its  admir 
ably  drawn  characters,  its  wit,  and  its  frankness." 

—  The  Brooklyn  Daily   Times. 

Joel  Chandler  Harris. 

Free  Joe,  and  Other  Georgian  Sketches.        i2tno,  paper,  50  cts.; 

cloth,  $1.00. 

"  The  author's  skill  as  a  story  writer  has  never  been  more  felicitously 
illustrated  than  in  this  volume." — The  New  York  Sun. 

Augustus  Allen  Hayes. 

The  Jesuit's  Ring;     i2mo,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.00. 
"  The  conception  of  the  story  is  excellent." — The  Boston   Traveller. 

George  A.  Hibbard. 

The  Governor,  and  Other  Stories.      i2mo,  cloth,  $1.00;    paper, 

50  cts. 

"It  is  still  often  urged  that,  except  in  remote  corners,  there  is  nothing 
in  our  American  life  which  appeals  to  the  artistic  sense,  but  certainly  these 
stories  are  American  to  the  core,  and  yet  the  artistic  sense  is  strong  in  them 
throughout. " — Critic. 

E.   T.  W.  Hoffmann. 

Weird  Tales.     With  Portrait.     i2mo,  2  vols.,  $3.00. 

"All  those  who  are  in  search  of  a  genuine  literary  sensation,  or  who 
care  for  the  marvelous  and  supernatural,  will  find  these  two  volumes  fas 
cinating  reading." —  The  Christian  Union. 


SCRIBNER'S    BRIEF    LIST   CF   FICTION.  5 

Dr.  J.  G.  Holland. 

Sevenoaks.  The  Bay  Path.   Arthur  Bonnicastle.   Miss  Gilbert's 
Career      Nicholas  Minium,     Each,  12010,  $1.25;  the  set,  $6.25. 
Sevenoaks  and  Arthur  Bonnicastle.     Each,  paper,  5oc. 
"Dr.  Holland  will  always  find  a  congenial  audience  in  the  homes  of 
culture  and  refinement.     He  does  not  alfect  the  play  of  the  darker  and 
fiercer  passions,  but  delights  in  the  sweet  images  that  clustei  -arc  >  n  d  the 
domestic  hearth.     He  cherishes  a  strong  fellow-feeling  with  the  pu  e  and 
tranquil  life  in  the  modest  social  circles  ot  the  American  people,  and  has 
thus  won  his  way  to  the  companionship  of  ^^ffi  Tribu9U. 


Thomas  A.  Janvier. 

Color  Studies,  and  a  Mexican  Campaign.     121110,  paper,  50  cts.; 

cloth,  $1.00. 

"Piquant,  novel  and  ingenious,  these  little  stories  with  ^{^^"SlK?^ 
have  excited  a  wide  interest.  The  best  of  them,  'Jaime  D  Antimoine  is 
a  little  wonder  in  its  dramatic  effect,  its  ingenious  construction.  - 

Andrew  Lang. 

The  Mark  of  Cain.     i2mo,  paper,  25  cts. 

"No  one  can  deny  that  it  is  crammed  as  full  of  incident  as  it  will  hold, 
or  that  the  elaborate  plot  is  worked  out  with  ^fj^^^g^^ 

George  P.  Latbrop. 

Newport.   I2mo,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  $1.25.   An  Echo  of  Passion, 

"mo,  paper,  50  cts.;   cloth,  $1.00.      In  the  Distance.     I2.no, 
paper,  50  cts.;  cloth,  fl.oo. 

"  His  novels  have  the  refinement  of  motive  which  characterize  the 
analytical  school,  but  his  manner  is  for  more 


Brander  Matthews. 

The  Secret  of  the  Sea,  and  Other  Stories.     tamo   paper,  50  cts.; 

cloth  $1.00.     The  Last  Meeting.     121110,  cloth,  $i 
«  Mr.  Matthews  is  a  man  of  wide  observation  and  of  much  ^milianty 
with  the  world.     His  literary  style  is  bright  and  crisp,  ^Hh  a  p^uliar 
sparkle  about  it-wit  and  humor  judiciously  minglec  »-^h  rendtrs  his 
pages  more  than  ordinarily  interesting."—  7^  Rochester  Post-  Express. 

George  Moore. 

Vain  Fortune,     lamo,  $1.00. 

"How  a  woman's  previous  ideas  and  actions  will  completely  change 
when  the  medium  of  i  wild,  intense  love  is  interposed,  was  never  more 
skilfully  sketched."  —  Boston  Times. 


SCRIBNER'S    BRIEF    LIST    OF    FICTION. 


Fit^-James  O'Brien. 

The  Diamond  Lens,  with  Other  Stories.     12010,  paper,  50  cts. 
"t  These  stories  are  the  only  things  in  literature  to  be  compared  with 
1  oe  s  work,  and  if  they  do  not  equal  it  in  workmanship,  they  ce-tainlv  do 
not  yield  to  it  in  originality."— 7V^>  Philadelphia  Record. 

Duffield  Osborne. 

The  Spell  of  Ashtaroth.     121110,  $1.00. 

"  It  has  a  simple  but  picturesque  plot,  and  the  sloiy  is  told  in  a  vividly 
dramatic  way."—  Chicago  Times.  y 

Bliss  Perry. 

The  Broughton  House.     121110,  $1.25. 

"A  wonderfully  shrewd  and  vivid    picture  of  life  in    cue  of  our  hill 
towns  in  summer." — Hartford  Post. 

Thomas  Nelson  Page. 

In    Old   Virginia.      Marse  Chan  and  Other  Stories.     i-»mo  $i  -5 

On  Newfound  River,     12.110,  $i  oo.    Elsket,  and  Other  Stories' 

I2mo,fi.oo.    Marse  Chan.    Ills.  bySmedley.    Sq. 121110.    $1.50. 

"Mr.  Page  enjoys  the  distinction  of  having  written  the  most  exquisite 

story  of  the  war  ('  Marse  Chan  '),  which  has  yet  appeared.     His  stories 

are  beautiful  and  faithful  pictures  of  a  society  now  become  a  portion  and 

parcel  cf  the  irrevocable  past."— Harp.rs  Magazine. 

George  I.  Putnam. 

In  Blue  Uniform;     121110,  $1.00. 

The  author  of  this  love  story,  who  is  an  ex-army  officer,  has  given  a 
very  natural  picture  of  garrison  life  in  the  Far  West,  with  strong  character 
studies,  and  a  sufficient  diversity  of  incident  to  give  movement  and  cumu 
lative  interest  to  the  tale. 

Saxe  Holm's  Stories. 

First  Series.  Second  Series.    Each,  121110,  paper,  500;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  Saxe  Holm's  characters  are  strongly  drawn,  and  she  goes  right  to  the 
heart  of  human  experience,  as  one  who  knows  the  way.  We  heartily 
commend  them  as  vigorous,  wholesome,  and  sufficiently  exciting  stories." 

—  The  Advance. 


SCRIBNER'S    BRIEF    LIST    OF    FICTION. 


Stories  from  Scribner. 

Stories  of  New  York.  Illustrated.  From  Four  to  Six,  by  Annie 
Eliot  ;  The  Commonest  Possible  Story,  by  Bliss  Perry;  The  End  of 
the  Beginning,  by  George  A.  Hibbard  ;  A  Puritan  Ingenue,  by 
John  S.  Wood  ;  Mrs.  Manstey's  View,  by  Edith  Wharton. 

Stories  of  the  Railway;     Illustrated.     As  the  Sparks  Fly  Upward, 
by  George  A.   Hibbard;  How   1   Sent  My  Aunt  to  Baltimore,  by 
Charles  S.    Davison  ;    Run  to  Seed,   by   Thomas   Nelson    Page  ; 
Flandroe's    Mogul,   by  A.   C.    Gordon. 
In  Press:        Stories  of  the  South.  Stories  of  Italy. 

Stories  of  the  Sea*  Stories  of  the  Army. 

Illustrated.     Each,  i6mo,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  75  cts. ;  half  calf,  $1.50. 

The   stories   in   these   attractive   little   volumes   are  among  the   most 

popular  of  those  that  have  been  published  in  "  Scribner's  Magazine."    They 

are  daintily  bound,  and  fully  and  beautifully  illustrated. 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 

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25  cts.;  cloth,  $1.00.     Kidnapped.     i2mo,  paper,  50  cts.;  cloth, 

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i2mo,  paper,  30   cts.;    cloth,    $1.00.     The  Dynamiter.     121110, 

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50  cts. ;  cloth,  $i  .00.    The  Master  of  Ballantrae.     i2mo,  paper, 

50   cts.;   cloth,  ill.,  $1.25.     The   Wrecker.     121110,  ill.,  §1.25. 

Island  Nights'  Entertainments.     121110,  ill  ,  $1.25. 

"Stevenson  belongs  to  the  romantic  school  of  fiction  writers.     He  is 

original  in   style,  charming,   fascinating,  and  delicious,  with  a  marvelous 

command  of  words,  and  with  a  manner  ever  delightful  and  magnetic/'' 

— Boston    Transcript. 

Charles  barren  Stoddard. 

South  Sea  Idyls.     i2mo,  $1.50. 

"  Brimful  of  delicious  descriptions  of  South  Sea  Island  life.  Neither 
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delicacy,  or  the  rich  wine-like  bouquet  of  these  sketches." — Independent. 

T.  R.  Sullivan. 

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happily  that  atmosphere  of  good  breeding  and  polite  society  which  is 

indispensable   to   the   novel  of  manners,    but   which    so    many  of  them 

lamentably  fail  of." — The  Nation. 


SCRIBNER'S    BRIEF    UST    OF    FICTION. 

Frederick  J.  Stimson  (].  S.  of  Dale). 

Guerndale.  12010,  paper,  so  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.25.  The  Crime  of 
Henry  Vane.  i2mo,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.00.  The  Senti 
mental  Calendar.  111.  121110,  $1.00.  First  Harvest.  i2mo, 
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$1.00.  In  the  Three  Zones.  121110,  $1.00. 

"  No  young  novelist  in  this  country  seems  better  equipped  than  Mr. 
Stimson  is." — The  Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

Frank  R.  Stockton. 

Rudder  Grange.     i2mo,  paper,  60  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.25;  illustrated  by 
A.   B.  Frost,   Sq.   i2mo,  $2.00.      The  Late  Mrs;  Null.     121110, 
paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.25.     The  Lady,  or  The   Tiger?   and 
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mas  Wreck,   and  Other  Stories.      i2tno,  paper,   50  cts.;    cloth, 
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talents,  discovering  not  only  a  new  kind  in  humor  and  fancy,  but  accumu 
lating  an  inexhaustible  wealth  of  details  in  each  fresh  achievement,  the 
least  of  which  would  be  riches  from  another  hand." — W.  D.  HOWELLS. 

Stories  by  American  Authors. 

Cloth,  i6mof  jo  cts.  each;    set,  10  vols.,  $5.00;  cabinet  edition  t 

in  sets  only,  $7.^0. 

"  The  public  ought  to  appreciate  the  value  of  this  series,  which  is  pre 
serving  permanently  in  American  literature  short  stones  that  have  con 
tributed  to  its  advancement." — The  Boston  Globe. 

Octave  Thanet. 

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cloth,  $1.00.  Stories  of  a  Western  Town.  i2mo.  Illustrated 
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Octave  Thanet  has  in  this  new  book  of  Western  stones  n  completely 
fresh  field,  in  which  she  has  done  her  finest  work.  These  stories  portray 
the  types  and  conditions  of  life  in  the  thriving,  pushing  towns  of  the  great 
Cential  Western  States  with  knowledge,  sympathy  and  a  fine  literary  art. 

John  T.  Wheelwright. 

A  Child  of  the  Century.     I2mo,  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $t.oo. 
"  A  typical  story  of  political  and  social  life,  free  from  cynicism  of  morbid 

'irk. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


APR  20  1942  E 


5065,'. 

"V. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


